Threading the Stars
by x Ugly Duckling x
Summary: Five years after turning to the dark side, Darth Vader discovers the impossible: his father. Can he unravel this mystery, and more importantly, can it redeem him? Complicating matters is Padme, who is still very much alive - as are the two children at her side.
1. Ch 1: Nebulous Skies

**Threading the Stars**

_Five years after turning to the dark side, Darth Vader discovers the impossible: his father. Can he unravel this mystery, and more importantly, can it redeem him? Complicating matters is Padme, whom someone is impersonating in the most unexpected place. But his world inverts when he learns she's not an impostor, and neither are the two children at her side..._

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_In this AU, the events of the prequels happened as usual, with one exception: Padme didn't die._

_Anyone familiar with the CGI Clone Wars series knows how awesome the "Overlords" episode was. It's from that story arc that this FanFic evolved, more or less._

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**Chapter 1**

The crowded transport was dimly lit, the air thick from hundreds of passengers recycling it for hours. Rows upon rows of alien faces blinked in awkward proximity to each other. Each time an engine sputtered or backfired, their expressions went from self-loathing to panic, then back again when nothing catastrophic occurred. It was almost disappointing. Soon they were back to fiddling with their luggage and avoiding eye contact.

At least, that was the strategy for those without portable Holonet devices. Such luxuries had become rare in the five years since Chancellor Palpatine declared himself Emperor. Economies throughout the galaxy were on the brink of collapse. Citizens once accustomed to comfortable lifestyles now found themselves facing bankruptcy, or at the very least, reduced to traveling in filthy transports like this one. If they could afford to travel at all, that is.

The same number of stars still burned from the Outer Rim to the Core, yet light had gone out of the galaxy.

Families stopped taking yearly vacations to Naboo's lake country or the mountains of Alderaan. Even children of royal lineage were going without such indulgences.

Which is what made three passengers stand out all the more. The trio wore loose cloaks with deep hoods, keeping their human noses tucked in shadow. But it wasn't their clothing that drew attention – it was their size. The tallest of the three was petite, most likely a small woman. And the two huddled at her sides were smaller still. Young children. One didn't have to be human to recognize that much.

The mother comforted them whenever the ship groaned or vibrated. They whispered into the folds of her hood, cupping tiny hands over their mouths. Occasionally she'd feed them snacks from her satchel bag, which they nibbled like anxious squirrels.

Curious stares were plenty, but that was due to boredom more than obsessive interest. Although there was one passenger who, whether he wanted to admit it or not, blurred the line between curiosity and obsession.

He hadn't been able to divert his eyes from them since they boarded at Naboo. He felt vaguely guilty. They were obviously doing everything in their power to deflect attention, yet here he was fixating on them. He tried numerous times to distract himself. With so many unique (and ugly) species milling about, there were plenty of other sources for passive entertainment. Yet try as he may, his gaze kept coming back to that human trio.

Perhaps it was because he too was human. Familiar figures evoked empathy, an implicit connection. It could be basic survival instincts. Both he and they were relatively vulnerable – him a lone traveler, them physically weak. It made sense he'd be drawn to them on a subconscious level.

No. That wasn't it. Who was he trying to fool?

Sighing, he lowered his aching head into his hands, massaging his scalp with eyes shut. Maybe this trip had been a mistake. A colossal mistake. But he'd come so far… farther than fate had ever intended. Farther than he could fathom at times. _To give up now, after all the dreams, the pain, the madness_… _her death would be in vain. I have to stay the course_.

Even if that course involved sitting across from three humans that made his brainstem tingle uncomfortably.

A sensation he'd experienced a handful of times since… _the place_.

What he wouldn't do to forget it. Or go back in time to prevent it from happening in the first place. How many years had it been? Ten? A hundred? Was the passage of time really what it seemed anymore?

Just as he was about to slip into a pool of surreal memories, a commotion broke out. An angry-looking alien with fangs and horns was snarling at the two children, one of whom had made him stumble when they bent over to retrieve a toy.

"Embryonic brat!" he snatched the toy, crushing it in his gnarled hands. "Trip me again and you'll be one less piece of _luggage_ your mother has to look after!"

"I-I'm very sorry," the woman shrank from the aggressor.

"Was I talking to you?! This is between me and your unruly spawn!"

Terrified, she sank into her robes, trembling as he addressed the child again.

"_Apologize_, human scum!"

All eyes were on the hapless family as they cowered in fear.

"Are you deaf _and_ mute? I said apologize!" he screamed in the poor child's face, horns brushing the edge of the boy's hood.

"This little one's not worth your trouble."

Grunting, the enraged alien whirled around to find a clear-eyed, middle-aged human staring him down with arms crossed.

"You the father?" he demanded.

"No. Just someone who thinks the last thing this ship needs is the stench of blood wafting around."

"Speak for yourself, I happen to love the smell of blood."

"You don't say?" the man raised an eyebrow. "Look, the boy is obviously too petrified to speak. Why not let this go? We're all miserable enough as it is."

Not a single spectator thought this would end well. Yet as they watched in mute, morbid fascination, the incredible happened. Suddenly the horned one seemed drained of his wrath. His eyes were vacant as he walked away without a word, looking disoriented but otherwise harmless.

Ignoring the murmurs around him, the human knelt down to the boy's level, smiling gently. "There now, he's gone. Everything will be all right."

He was expecting a sniffle or lingering tear, but instead the boy sprang forward in a tight, clinging hug. The man laughed in incredulous delight, looking at the woman with smiling eyes.

"Luke, that's enough!" she chastened out of embarrassment and protection.

"It's quite all right," the man chuckled.

"I'm sorry… I've been trying to get him to establish boundaries with strangers, but he gets easily attached." _Especially to men who look so much like_… she blinked, seeing her savior clearly for the first time. _Those eyes_…

"Well, _I'd_ be attached to anyone who redirected that horned fellow too," he patted the boy's back lightly before returning him to his seat.

"I don't know how to thank you! How did you…?"

"Send him packing? It's a little hard to explain. I have a… _gift_ with negotiations."

Padmé studied him through the frame of her hood. The only people she ever knew to possess such "gifts" were all but extinct. Could this be a stray survivor of Order 66? Not impossible, but would he really be foolish enough to publicly display his abilities? Who _was_ this man?

"We're in your debt. Care to join us?"

"Certainly," he scooted next to them on the bench. Luke huddled close to him in calm, complete trust.

"So you're headed to Imperial Center?" She still hated the sound of that name. In her heart, it would always be Coruscant.

"Indeed. Yourself as well?"

"Yes," she said with audible sadness.

"Pleasure or business?"

_There_ was a loaded question. "Neither, exactly," she hedged.

"Forgive me, I shouldn't have asked," he quickly apologized. "We must all be careful in these dark times."

_The understatement of the millennium_, Padmé thought.

"Is this your children's first subspace voyage?"

"No, but it's probably the first one they'll remember."

"Ah, to be so young," he winked at Luke. "Can you guess how many trips _I've_ been on?"

"Uh… _ten!_" the boy wagered.

"Guess again."

"Twenty?"

"Still too low."

Beneath his hood, Luke's eyes widened. "A _hundred?!_"

"Getting warmer."

Baffled, Luke didn't know what to guess next. He wasn't yet familiar with numbers beyond one hundred.

"I give up!"

"Including this trip, it's been 214 times," the man informed an awestruck Luke.

"Mom, did you _hear_ that?!"

"That's a big number, all right," she nodded at her son. Now she _really_ didn't know what to make of this man. "A very big number."

What an enigma their savior was, using Jedi mind tricks and logging more light years than most beings traversed in a lifetime. Not to mention charming with kids. Even Leia, sitting on Padmé's other side, was leaning over as if magnetically pulled to the stranger. Tucked under the man's arm, Luke seemed more content than he'd been in months… maybe even years.

She herself felt inexplicably safe in his presence – and not just because of his earlier bravery.

It was an awkward moment when both adults realized they were staring absently at each other.

"Ah, well, it won't be much longer before we land," the man cleared his throat, glancing at his wrist chrono.

"Have you been to Imperial Center before?" Padmé shifted her bags to prepare for disembarking.

He laughed rather loudly. "No, without a doubt, this is my first visit to the capitol world."

"Strange for someone so well-traveled."

At first he said nothing, pursing his lips while tightening his own luggage straps in place.

"Dear lady, one can travel _far_ without traveling _well_."

There was unspeakable melancholy behind those words. Padmé's soul ached as he said them; in that instant, she knew this man had endured more sorrow and suffering than even she. Perhaps that was their unspoken connection. Two weary travelers whose physical baggage could never compare to the emotional.

"Well, I hope your visit is enjoyable. Or productive. Or whatever it is you hope to gain from it," she said sincerely.

"Thank you. I wish you the same," he returned with a wan smile.

They felt the atmospheric drag as the ship began its descent. Everyone shifted in restless anticipation, eager to be free of these claustrophobic confines. Padmé squeezed her children's hands reassuringly. When the bumpy landing was finally over, bodies clogged every exit, making for slow progress off the transport.

The stranger was still in their company as they shuffled along. Feeling she owed him one last comment, Padmé turned to him again.

"I wish I knew how to repay you for what you did back there."

"Not at all," he dismissed. "You owe me nothing. Although… could I ask one small thing?"

"Yes, of course."

"Your name?" he asked hesitantly, not wanting to alarm her. "It's unlikely we'll ever cross paths again, and I'd like to remember you."

Her name? She couldn't possibly tell him that, no matter how secure she felt alongside him! She'd have to use her alias, the one Obi-Wan advised her to use when traveling.

"Pedna," she replied, hoping he wouldn't detect her fraud.

If he could, he hid his disappointment well. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Pedna. Safe travels to you and your children."

"And to you…?" she looked inquisitively at him.

The crowd was moving more swiftly now, separating them inch by inch. Yet before he was swept away, he answered her.

"Ainar," he replied. "Ainar Skywalker."

By the time Padmé remembered how to use her tongue again, he'd vanished from her sight.

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"_This little one's not worth your trouble." Echoing Obi-Wan's words in the Mos Eisley Cantina with Luke. _

"_Pedna" is sort of an anagram of Padmé, with an n instead of an m._

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	2. Ch 2: Palaces & Powerplay

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**Chapter 2: Palaces & Powerplay**

Dawn came bleakly through narrow slits in a grey room hundreds of stories above Imperial Center's ground level. The stark, sterile environment cradled a single object sitting dead center. It was an obsidian sphere, glossy and mirrored on the outside, reflecting nothing but the flatness around it.

Reflected, too, was the flatness of the heart that beat within. Its beating slowly accelerated with a change in temperature and brightness designed to simulate normal waking conditions. Without them, its resident would be blind to external cues, adrift in semi-conscious limbo.

That was certainly not somewhere Darth Vader wanted to be. So he had programmed the sleep chamber's settings himself to ensure flawless performance. In five years of use, it had yet to malfunction.

One thing, at least, he had control over in his life. One thing he could be proud of.

It was a meager victory, considering his need for the Qabbrat chamber in the first place. But he tried not to dwell on that. Instead, he practiced envisioning his paradigm as others saw it: fearsome, invincible, and obscenely wealthy. Anyone viewing the thousand-foot-high obelisk that was his palace saw it as nothing else.

Black and impenetrable, just like his suit. A symbol of supreme, uncontested power recognized throughout the galaxy.

And just like his suit, the intimidating design compensated for wounds hidden inside. But nobody would ever guess that shameful truth. It was this widespread ignorance that Vader used to patch the gaping holes in his soul each day. As long as others believed him indestructible, he was.

Only one individual knew otherwise – one whose palace was the only structure that overshadowed Vader's. One who happened to be contacting Vader at that very moment, breaking him from the last remnants of synthesized sleep.

"Vader! You are not in my strategy office as we discussed," the Emperor hissed irritably through the holo communicator. "Xizor and I impatiently await your presence!"

Blast – he'd forgotten to set the Qabbrat to wake him earlier than usual this morning. If he kept Sidious and Xizor waiting, the investors would eventually be kept waiting as well. What was the matter with him? He'd felt a little foggy since yesterday evening. The day had been splendidly productive until just before sunset, when the words on his datapad suddenly stopped making sense. He'd retired early, hoping whatever it was would pass, yet he felt little improved.

Worse still was the fact that Sidious had contacted him before his helmet was in place. His bare head wasn't anything the Emperor hadn't seen, but Xizor was a different matter. Having his rival see him like this was most unsavory.

Scowling, he punched the button to lower his helmet, rubbing his bloodshot eyes before it descended.

"My apologies, my master," he coughed. "I will arrive shortly."

"Snap to it! The Prince hates having his time wasted as much as I do!"

"Yes, I understand master."

"And don't forget to bring the new schematics for the investors to see."

"I have prepared them to your specifications."

"Good! I will not tolerate any more sloppiness on your part, Lord Vader. If this meeting does not proceed to my satisfaction, the consequences will be yours."

Before Vader could give another self-effacing reply, the Emperor's blue holo form vanished. He pounded a gloved fist onto the chamber release key. The day was certainly off to a great start. And soon he'd be simpering before Prince Xizor, Sidious' newest pet. Fantastic.

_What could he hope to gain from that alliance?_ he grumbled while riding the turbolift. Xizor had a few connections, sure. Well, maybe more than a few. But out of anyone, Sidious should know that all the weapons and money in the universe were nothing compared to the Dark Side. Why entertain this mafia prince when a far worthier apprentice already existed?

Xizor's role in Empire affairs had grown gradually over the years. Vader recalled first seeing the green-skinned Falleen at a handful of public events soon after the Clone Wars' end. He'd shaken the Emperor's hand, sipped a few cocktails, and watched the other guests with calculating eyes. A wealthy but forgettable patron, all things considered.

That was Vader's impression until he discovered a new palace being erected just blocks from his own. It didn't take long to learn the owner's identity: Prince Xizor of Falleen, affluent businessman and investor. Rumor had it he owned a substantial portion of Imperial Center's land and companies. Rumor also had it he was tied to the nefarious Black Sun organization.

Suffice it to say, his neighbors hadn't rushed over with freshly-baked housewarming gifts. Not that they had for Vader, either.

And so, while no one was looking, Xizor had successfully jockeyed for prime position alongside the Emperor. Vader never saw it coming. Now there were three citadels in the Palace District instead of two. What an insult. What an affront to all the hard, tireless work Vader had put into earning his place. _Not to mention the sacrifices_…

He forced the unpleasant thoughts from his mind; he was fast approaching the Imperial Palace by way of underground transit. The corridor system connecting the palaces was convenient, he had to admit. He just wished Xizor didn't share that convenience.

_Focus, Vader_, he berated himself. _He's not worth your attention. Maybe someday, when the time is right… but not today. Sidious wants no distractions today._

No distractions? That'd take a miracle. His head still felt ten feet underwater. What was causing this cursed interference?

He'd have to sort it out later. The Imperial strategy room opened before him, where Sidious and Xizor were pacing with hands behind their backs.

"It's about time! This delay is quite unacceptable," Sidious berated once more.

"I am here now, let that be enough."

"It might be enough if you brought satisfactory data."

Brushing past Xizor, Vader shoved a disc into the holo viewer.

"Good morning, Vader," the Prince smiled patronizingly.

"Xizor."

"In your haste to get here, I'm pleased you found time to put your face on."

Hot, seething indignation burned within that suit, much like the fires of Mustafar that necessitated it. Turning slowly, Vader straightened to his full height, which was just a couple inches above the Prince.

"I was genuinely worried you might leave without it," Xizor continued, unfazed. "Then I'd have wasted my time _and_ my breakfast."

Grinning, Sidious shuffled toward them. "Gentlemen, the viewing screen, please."

Vader stared at the Prince several more seconds. _If Sidious weren't here, you Falleen bastard_…

"This looks good, Vader. The detail is superb," Sidious scrutinized the rotating image of the Death Star's understructure.

"Thank you, master."

"Mm, it's decent, but will it impress the investors?" Xizor rubbed his chin.

"Why do you doubt it?" Sidious inquired.

"I know these men, Emperor. They're very exacting, not unlike myself," Xizor crossed his arms smugly. "They'll want more than a cutaway view that took, what, two hours to construct?"

Vader bristled. "It took longer than –"

"My _point_ is, we need at least a dozen more layers like this," Xizor spoke over him.

"I see," Sidious nodded. "Vader, can this be done?"

"Not immediately," Vader replied, still feeling defensive. "It would have to be completed around several other priority projects."

"Such as?"

He couldn't believe he had to justify his time management to Sidious. How infuriating. "The long-term execution of Order 66, for one. You ordered me to investigate a potential suspect on Alderaan."

"Ah, that I did," the Emperor wrinkled his mouth. "Well Xizor, I don't suppose _you_ could procure the extra schematics?"

"I was hoping you'd ask. I can have them ready by the end of the week."

"Excellent! Once again, you've proven yourself invaluable."

"It's my honor to serve where others cannot, your majesty." He narrowed his eyes at Vader.

"Wasn't it wise of me to recruit him, Vader?"

How Vader hated this. The aged Sith Lord delighted in their rivalry, savoring their animosity when it flared at times like this.

"You are wise, my master," he affirmed, purposely omitting Xizor from the context.

"Yes, and soon we will all profit from it," Sidious rubbed his hands together. "This Death Star will cement our power like never before. Imagine it! A viciously armed, fully shielded battle station, the very _sight_ of which will keep systems in line!"

"It shall be glorious," Vader concurred.

"Glorious? It will be legendary! Not a single sentient creature will be ignorant of it! The statement it makes will resound on every planet, near and far!"

Ironic how Vader's tardiness wasted valuable time, yet this egotistical rant didn't. Both he and Xizor were growing a little weary of the Emperor's self indulgence.

"What other business have we to discuss before the meeting, your highness?" Xizor suggested.

Sidious paused to recollect his thoughts. "What is the status of the covert intelligence project at 500 Republica?"

The question was obviously asked of Vader, who winced slightly at the reminder. It had been particularly cruel of Sidious to assign this job to him. Never mind there were dozens of other qualified, capable officers who could infiltrate that apartment building and install hidden cameras. He, Darth Vader, former spouse of her who had once lived at 500 Republica, was selected for the honor. It was no coincidence. It was unequivocally deliberate.

Sidious had to know Vader would drag his feet on this, so he clearly didn't regard it as a high priority. Efficiency wasn't his aim. Emotional suffering was.

"I am still in the process of obtaining the equipment," Vader answered carefully. Truth be told, he hadn't contacted a single supplier yet, but he'd learned how to obscure lies from Sidious' radar. It was a skill he'd come to rely on more than he could imagine.

"Further delay is intolerable. You will acquire the electronics within two weeks and have them in place within a month," Sidious spat.

Vader's heart fell. He should have known he could only avoid it for so long.

"Yes, my master."

"I want every room tapped before Viceroy Organa's jubilee celebration next month," the Sith said bitterly. "Even the _vacant_ ones."

Beneath his helmet, Vader closed his eyes in defeat. "Understood, master."

"Viceroy Organa is having a gala? What threat does that pose?" Xizor spoke up, but not before noting Vader's depressed state.

"Bail Organa has long sympathized with those who foolishly cling to different ideals than we do," Sidious scowled, displeased with his ignorance. "If you had paid any attention to Clone War politics, you'd know that!"

"Pardon me. I was more interested in grooming my career than following has-been senators."

Sidious curled his lip. "Those _has-been_ senators are worth watching, Xizor. When they're not staging protests and getting themselves arrested, they're haplessly leading us to other traitors – namely the Jedi."

Xizor looked ready to yawn. "You and Vader's pet project, not mine."

"And you will respect it!"

"As you wish," the Prince inclined his head slightly. Though the matter bored him, he _did_ find new intrigue in Vader's reaction to 500 Republica. Such moments of vulnerability were rare – and reinforced Xizor's need to demystify the dark lord's paradigm. He'd catalogued every incongruity, every instance when Vader's inner armor cracked.

The various pieces of this puzzle had yet to be linked, but Xizor was nothing if not patient. Revenge tasted best when it had marinated for many months.

Indeed, many months had already passed since Vader decimated the Prince's family on the Falleen homeworld. If that black-clad Sith thought he could erase all evidence of his secret bio weapons lab without consequences, he had another thought coming. He'd learn vengeance was much harder to staunch than the flesh-eating bacteria outbreak that occurred.

For now, Xizor would play nice with this homely pair of Sith, until doing so ceased being profitable for him. They no doubt expected as much. What they failed to realize was that for Xizor, _profit_ wasn't always strictly monetary.

As Vader, the Prince, and the Emperor silently rode the turbolift up to the investors' meeting, their private agendas rode with them. Each shielded his mind from the other two.

Of the three, Vader's was most in need of guarding.

He still didn't know what madness was plaguing him. Through the glass turbolift capsule, he watched Imperial Center's sky traffic, hoping the answer lay somewhere in the early morning haze.

Something was out there, beckoning and taunting him from the interwoven lanes of speeders. It was a tremor in the Force, the likes of which he hadn't experienced in… three years? Was that right? He had a vague memory of a similar disturbance during a past visit to Alderaan. He couldn't wait to get off the planet, yet at the same time, he'd found it painful to leave.

Most painful of all were the dreams he experienced for days afterward. Nothing but _her_ face every night for a week. He woke up grinding his teeth.

He could only pray history wouldn't repeat itself. But he had an uneasy feeling that come nightfall, the torture would begin again.

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_Having never read the "Shadows of the Empire" comics Xizor is featured in, I still wanted to integrate him into this story, even if it meant tweaking the official timeline. (The bio weapons lab incident mentioned in this chapter technically happened in 7 BBY, whereas this is 14 BBY. Also, he was originally involved with the 2nd Death Star's construction, not the first. But if you don't mind the alterations, I don't.)_

_Qabbrat is the technical name for Vader's meditation/sleep chambers. Another random fact I stumbled across recently._

_And yes, there's meant to be some subtle humor at Palpatine's expense. He's my favorite character to lampoon, as some of you already know. :P_

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	3. Ch 3: Out of the Mouths of Babes

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**Chapter 3: Out of the Mouths of Babes**

Padmé gazed wistfully out a small circular window in Breha Organa's royal shuttle. Seated quietly nearby were Luke and Leia, engrossed in handheld brain-teaser puzzles. The twins were blissfully unaware of their mother's distressed heart, which had been heavy since departing Breha's 500 Republica apartment early that morning. For them, this was just an innocent vacation to be spent at Uncle Bail's palace.

For Padmé, it was another close brush with a heart attack.

The last time had been three years ago; they'd sought refuge with the Organas when Naboo was randomly selected for Jedi sweeping. The hair on the back of her neck stood on the edge the full three hours they'd waited for Bail to retrieve them from the Imperial City spaceport. Fully aware of being on the same planet as _him_… with his austere palace visible in the distance, no less… she'd found it difficult to breathe.

"I'm sorry to be such a burden," she apologized to Breha for the fifth time that morning.

The queen of Alderaan sighed. "Padmé, even if I had to escort you every day of the week, I still wouldn't consider it a burden!"

"You're too good to me. To us," she glanced sadly at the twins.

"Anyone who's endured what you have deserves no less. Now no more apologizing, I won't have it. Try to relax, we'll be at Alderaan in an hour."

Padmé obeyed by staying silent, but she was far from relaxed. How much longer could they live like this? Luke and Leia would eventually grasp their situation, and when they did, she'd have to be ready with plenty of answers.

It was already getting difficult. Within the past few months, both children began having nightmares of a black-masked man chasing them. Padmé's conscience never felt more torn than when she tried to soothe them back to sleep without revealing the truth. Not just the truth about who they saw, but the Force sensitivity causing them to see him.

In the darkest hours of her insomnia, she'd lain awake wondering if he sent the visions himself. The thought made her blood run ice cold. _No, it couldn't be… he'd have to know they were alive, that _I _was alive. He can't target them if he doesn't know they exist_.

Such logic was meager comfort when they woke up screaming every other night.

Each tear they shed made her question everything – faking her death, hiding in an off-the-map cottage on Naboo, surrendering her political mind when the galaxy most desperately needed it. Could this really be right? Was there no other way? Obi-Wan and Yoda had been so sure, but as each dismal year dragged on, _she_ wasn't.

A tentative sigh escaped her lungs and she smiled warmly at the twins. Without them, her life would be meaningless. Keeping them safe might cause her to go gray before her time, but she wouldn't forfeit them for anything. Every sleepless night was worth it for their sake.

The more Imperial Center shrank behind them, the calmer she felt. Soon the blue-green surface of Alderaan loomed beneath them, breathtaking with its glittering oceans and snowy mountain ranges. Exile certainly felt less bitter when it looked like this.

Aldera Palace was just as magnificent as Padmé remembered it, perhaps even more so. Maybe its balconies and gardens would lift her spirits, if only a little. Instead of looking at it as a prison, she could adopt the twins' carefree view for a day. What did she have to lose?

It might even distract her from that unsettling encounter with Ainar… the one who claimed to have the last name of _Skywalker_.

Surely she'd imagined it all. She wanted desperately to believe that. Travel-weary hallucinations were easier to accept than… than…

Each time she almost finished the thought, common sense snapped her back like a rubber band, stinging just as badly. Maybe she wasn't just fatigued from traveling. Maybe she really was insane.

What else could explain her burning suspicion that this man, this heroic stranger, was the grandfather of the very boy he saved?

She wanted to physically slap herself back to sanity. Regardless of the coincidences, it was simply impossible. The Force had conceived Anakin, not a conventional human coupling. That was established, incontrovertible fact. The man could be a distant cousin, an uncle thrice removed. Some relation that explained the physical resemblance without upturning the entire foundation of Anakin's life.

_I need to stop dwelling on this. Whoever this man is, he doesn't belong in our lives. _

Yet she knew Luke would strongly beg to differ on that point.

Her inner conflict was far from settled by the time she ended up in a lavish guest bedroom with no memory of walking there. She hadn't felt this distracted in five years.

"…something to eat or drink?" the tail end of Breha's words became audible.

"Oh… um…" she blinked, feeling off-balance and slightly embarrassed. She glanced instinctively at the children, who looked rather worn out. "Maybe a pitcher of ice water and some crackers?"

Breha smiled reprovingly. "Don't be so modest, Padmé. The three of you need more than crackers and water. I'll send for a platter of meat and cheese."

Padmé was too self-conscious – and hungry – to argue. Looking around the suite, she recognized the furnishings from her previous stay, with one exception: the twin cribs had been replaced with child-size beds fit for a prince and princess. Luke and Leia spotted them instantly and ran to inspect them.

"We can't thank you enough, Breha."

"It isn't I who deserves all your gratitude," the queen deferred. "Without our informants, we wouldn't know about the Jedi raids until _after_ the Empire performed them."

"That's certainly true. But meanwhile, I worry for Obi-Wan," Padmé gnawed her lip.

"He evaded them last time, I have faith he'll do so again."

"I know… I just wish he could accompany us instead of burrowing underground like a hunted animal."

"Unfortunately, that's what the Jedi have become," Breha placed a hand on Padmé's shoulder. "Hunted animals. At least you're under the protection of one of the most cunning, resourceful survivors."

True, once again. Which was, ironically, why Obi-Wan couldn't chaperone them to Imperial Center. Vader would've sensed his former master's potent Force signature well before he touched down. Padmé might just barely avoid detection, but the aura of a Force-sensitive Jedi was impossible to miss.

Remaining on Naboo during the raids was risky, but it allowed Obi-Wan to monitor the sweepers' progress and alert Padmé the instant they were gone. Spending one minute too long in the vicinity of Imperial Center could mean the difference between her safety and capture.

The latter was something Padmé simply refused to imagine. Even her subconscious blocked it from being used as nightmare material.

The sound of footsteps approaching made both women turn toward the door, which opened to reveal a beaming Bail Organa. Padmé embraced her longtime friend and political ally with a bittersweet sigh.

"Bail, it's wonderful to see you again!"

"Yes, even under less than ideal circumstances," the Viceroy agreed. "You traveled well, I hope? No snags or altercations?"

_Does an altercation count if it was diffused, but I can't stop thinking about it?_ "Well, now that you mention it…"

"I do apologize, I'm still petitioning to get Alderaan joined to the Corellian Run," Bail incorrectly anticipated her complaint. "I know I said the same thing at your last visit, but I haven't given up."

Before Padmé could respond, his attention was on the twins, who were using the beds like trampolines.

"Are these the same twins who stayed here three years ago?" he exclaimed. "You two have sprouted like weeds! I'll have to tell the gardener to bring his pruning shears up here."

Giggling, Luke and Leia intensified their jumping. Luke adopted an especially mischievous grin.

"Uncle Bail, guess what?"

"Hmm… you ate a fried salamander during your ride on the transport?"

"Hahaha, no!"

"Your_ sister_ ate a fried salamander?"

"No, she's too afraid to!" Luke laughed, earning a pouty look from Leia.

"Well, I'm obviously no good at guessing. You'll just have to tell me."

"A big, nasty alien got mad at me on the ship!"

Trying not to look too alarmed, Bail leaned down to Luke's level. "Really? That sounds scary."

"It _was!_" the boy shouted almost gleefully.

"So did he cool his temper?"

Nodding, Luke was grinning from ear to ear now. "Yeah – after grandpa talked to him."

"Oh, that's good–"

In his relief to hear no harm had befallen Luke, Bail processed the words a little too quickly. Half a second passed before it struck him as strange. Rising slowly, he turned to Padmé in genuine confusion.

"_Ruwee_ traveled with you?" he asked skeptically.

Padmé flushed. "No, both my parents are still on Naboo. Luke, why would you lie about that?"

"He's not lying," Leia spoke up, compounding Padmé's shock. "You saw him too, mom. It was grandpa."

Beside herself, Padmé scarcely knew what to say. What had gotten into her children? What did they have to gain by conspiring to fabricate this part of the story? Why couldn't they just tell the simple truth?

Maybe for the same reason she frequently blanched at that "simple" truth.

Maybe because it wasn't quite as simple as she wanted to believe.

Well, she _had_ been angling for some way to broach the subject. The twins' segue was a little unconventional, but it was better than nothing.

"Luke, Leia, will you behave nicely while Uncle Bail, Aunt Breha and I talk in the other room for a minute?"

"Okay."

"Sure."

"That means no more jumping on those beds," Padmé admonished.

"Fine," they ceased pouncing in unison, trying to look angelic as they sat on the edge of the mattresses. Padmé knew they'd resume their antics as soon as the door shut, but she cringed at the idea of discussing Ainar in front of them. The less complicated this remained for them, the better.

Once inside the adjoining suite, the royal couple curiously awaited Padmé's next words. It wasn't like the former senator of Naboo to be so flustered.

"I'm sorry, they must still be out of sorts from the trip," she began, not sounding altogether convincing – or convinced.

"It's no bother, they're just children. They have active imaginations," Breha offered.

"That's just it… their imaginations aren't as vivid as you think."

"What do you mean?"

Wringing her hands, Padmé paced anxiously, looking everywhere but Bail and Breha. "I… I don't know how to explain this without sounding half out of my mind…"

"We're the last people to ever judge you, Padmé," Bail assured her.

"I hope you mean that," Padmé looked up timidly. "I'll start by saying the man who rescued Luke didn't look anything like my father."

"Not even a little?" Breha inquired.

Padmé almost laughed. "My father is dark and short in stature like me. This man was tall, fair-haired, and… blue-eyed," her throat caught. "No one with half-functioning vision would have mistaken him for Ruwee Naberrie."

"Then what would possess the twins to insist he was 'grandpa?'" Bail wondered.

"That's the part you won't believe," Padmé drew a breath. "He looked just like… _him_."

Understanding dawned on each of their faces at exactly the same moment. Bail looked sick to his stomach while Breha's eyes filled with tender sadness.

"But... it couldn't be," Bail whispered in controlled horror. "I saw Vader on the holo news just this morning."

"Don't misunderstand, he wasn't identical. Much older, actually. Like he was old enough to be…"

"What, his _father?_" Bail finished when it appeared she couldn't.

"I _told_ you it was madness!" Padmé cried.

Exchanging looks of concern, Bail and Breha stepped closer to her.

"It's not madness, Padmé. The twins are Force-sensitive. Even if you'd never shown them a photo of Anakin, they might still feel an instinctive connection we don't understand," Breha counseled gently. "And it's possible you haven't yet fully recovered from the trauma he did to you. You're not crazy – you're just hurting."

"That's right. The subconscious can be a powerful thing. You may long for a positive male member of Anakin's family to offset his evil deeds," Bail advised. "But the truth of the matter is he has no father."

"You think I don't _know_ that? That I haven't told myself that a million times in a vain effort to stop seeing him when I close my eyes?" Padmé shot back. "The truth of the matter is _this_: he said his name was _Ainar Skywalker!_"

The royal pair was too shocked to speak.

"You see? This isn't some trite psychology case!" she finished indignantly.

"It could be a distant relative," Bail hedged.

"His only known relatives are the Lars. Not once did he mention anyone with his own last name!"

"Family reunions are hard to attend when you're a slave," Bail reasoned. "Tatooine wasn't even where he was born. If he had extended family, he'd have never known."

"We can argue this logically all day, but I won't get much sleep until I know who Ainar is. Would you be able to search public records? Do a full background check?"

"I suppose," Bail shrugged. "But many planets keep spotty records at best."

"I'll take that chance."

Silently consulting his wife, who apparently had nothing to add, Bail gave Padmé one last dubious glance. "I'll see what I can find and get back to you later."

"Thank you," Padmé said sincerely.

With nothing else to say, the trio returned to find the twins landing awkwardly on the pillows. The five-year-olds looked up in wide-eyed, exaggerated innocence.

"I'll fetch the guest toys from storage," Breha whispered to Padmé, who stifled a laugh.

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_Leave it to the youngest individuals to see what adults can't/ won't. Though to be fair, those adults aren't Force-sensitive._

_And still so many unanswered questions..._

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	4. Ch 4: Intrusions

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**Chapter 4 – Intrusions **

Public outings were among Vader's most enjoyable tasks any given week. Harvests of fear, he'd unofficially deemed them. A darkly poetic mind might compare it to a bird taking flight, capturing the world's attention in its pinnacle of majesty. The analogy was fitting. Vader's black cape caught the wind like a vulture's fearsome wingspan.

But unlike a vulture, his intended victims were never deceased. That was the only certainty – and it was more than sufficient to send pedestrians scattering in all directions when the specter appeared in their midst.

Not that their feeble attempts at hiding would save them if they were, in fact, his targets. Logically, they knew that. But primal instinct still made them run.

He lived for these terrified reactions, imbibing them like blended juice drinks he once was able to drink. Those days were long gone – power and dominion were his refreshment now.

Except this morning.

The Dark Lord's gait wasn't the thunderous stride it usually was. One could even say his feet dragged as he led a dozen stormtroopers through the streets. There was a slump in his shoulders that didn't quite look right. Had he been any other man, dressed normally without Mandalorian crushgaunt gloves, he'd blend right into the miserable masses roaming the alleys. No one would have given him as much as a sideways glance.

Yet it wasn't an unwashed, unemployed vagrant passing by. It was Darth Vader as none in the galaxy had ever seen him.

Sluggish, dejected, and reluctant – these were the last words befitting the Emperor's right hand. Yet nothing else described the Sith as he trudged through Imperial City's central district toward...

500 Republica.

His imposing silhouette filled the front entrance, blocking all light into lobby. The doorman and front desk clerk turned to statues, too petrified to exchange looks with each other. Doom had descended upon their apartment complex. The devil was about to ring their doorbell.

How uncouth of them not to have a cake ready to serve.

The air dropped several degrees when he stepped inside, dumping a bag of tangled electronics onto the counter. The clerk stared at the wires without blinking.

"My men and I will be installing a closed surveillance system in this building," he announced without preamble. "You will grant us access to each apartment, as well as your switchboard and servers."

Unable to speak, the woman behind the desk gave a high-speed nod and fumbled for her comlink, dropping it before shakily paging her supervisor. When a portly, beady-eyed man appeared a minute later, he didn't need to be briefed. The situation was as plain as day.

But also black as night.

Vader repeated his request and was swiftly led to the control office, the functions of which were explained to his satisfaction. Not that he needed instructions. The system was standard and simple… child's play, really. C3PO's programming had been a hundred times more complex. He was fairly confident the stormtroopers could synchronize everything without much supervision.

With one exception, of course: the balcony apartment on the twentieth floor. None of the troops needed reminding it was strictly off-limits.

Neither did the building's tenants need to hear the evacuation order more than once. Whenever the words "Empire" and "surveillance" were used in the same sentence, no one mistook it for a drill. Fleeing with whatever they could grab on the way out, dozens clogged the halls in a mad rush to vacate. Dragged behind their parents, children screamed at the sight of stormtroopers pounding on doors. Many were in tears by the time they reached the lobby and the cold morning air beyond.

Again, Vader failed to savor this outpouring of fear. For him, the scene had become a slow-motion, blurry projection without audio. He felt almost disembodied as he found the nearest turbolift and pushed the button for the twentieth floor.

Was he really doing this? Was there no turning back?

_Stop. Such weak, wavering thoughts are not of Darth Vader. They are of… his lesser, former self. Darth Vader dreads nothing. He suffers no anxiety_.

But if it was not anxiety that consumed him at that apartment door, what was it?

_Control your foolish feelings, Vader. It is only an apartment. A configuration of steel, carpet, and glass. Nothing more_. The logic simultaneously stung and emboldened him.

There was only one way through this quagmire, and that way lay directly ahead. No more stalling. If he let this get the better of him, he was all but useless to the Emperor. He may as well hang up his cloak and kneel for death by Sith lightning.

Surely this experience would be more bearable than _that_.

Yet that was logic talking again. Logic, which was neither love nor hate – something apart from the two passionate ends of the spectrum he'd always known. Would it be enough?

Sliding the door open with a flick of his wrist, he decided it was time to find out.

Three steps inside and the rasp of his ventilator lost its rhythm. His prosthetic knees locked against the tremors that wracked his frame. At least the suit kept him stable when his nerves refused to. Using its modified senses, he stood and took stock of his surroundings.

At first glance, most everything was the same. The furnishings, though changed, were in much the same arrangement. Whoever lived here now shared a good deal of _her_ tastes. From the artwork to the ornamental knick-knacks, the effect was so similar that for an instant, he actually believed he was breathing the same air as she.

It felt exactly like his dream the previous night. The one he knew was coming on the wake of the headaches and vertigo.

It had been even more graphic and disturbing than the previous ones combined. In it, he'd entered the living space just as he did now, hearing Padmé's voice calling from the bedroom. His feet moved much too slowly toward the sound, which changed as he grew closer. Instead of beckoning him with flirtatious tones, she was now shouting in panic, screaming as if a lion were poised to pounce on her.

When he finally reached her, it appeared as if one had. Her nightgown covered in blood, Padmé lay lifeless with an equally bloodied infant next to her. Grisly didn't begin to describe the horrific scene.

Blinking, Vader realized he was now standing in the bedroom, having retraced his steps from the nightmare. The bed before him was clean, unsoiled by visible stains of blood. Yet it was the _invisible_ stains that haunted this room – and he saw them as clearly as his grim reflection in the mirror.

Under his feet was the path crawled by two deadly kouhun centipedes that nearly claimed her life eight years ago. And on the bed… on that _bed_…

The dream had been all too accurate. That bed was her tomb all along.

It was where they'd made love into all hours of the night each time he returned from war. It was where she'd slept alone far too many months in a row, her concern growing as she watched her belly do the same. The seeds of her death were sown in this bed. His visions of that death had also occurred in its silky sheets.

How had it gone so wrong? Why was he alone and ruined instead of waking up in that bed with Padmé and their children tucked under his arms? _Why?_

He knew the answer but refused to give it a voice in his mind. Slamming his heart shut along with the bedroom door, he stormed back into the living area, seething. He didn't care if having stormtroopers wire this apartment was a sign of utter failure. He was through here. Forever.

Something caught his eye a few feet from the door – something previously hidden from view behind the sofa. It was a basket filled with brightly colored toys and stuffed animals. Children lived here. Judging by the variety of its contents, at least two or three children.

When the family returned to their dwelling later that afternoon, they were aghast to find the couch overturned, the toy basket brutally ripped in half, and pieces of crushed and mutilated toys strewn in every corner.

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On the other side of Imperial City, curiosity was about to claim another victim before the day was through.

Ainar Skywalker had been thoroughly dazzled since setting foot on this city-planet. In all his varied and belabored travels, he'd yet to come across a world completely encrusted with commerce and industry. He wagered the charm would wear off eventually, but for the time being, he marveled at the mile-high spires that filled one horizon to the next.

There were, of course, less glamorous zones hidden in the shadows of those towers. He'd spent the previous night in one almost as rough as that Tatooine spaceport… what was the name again? Mos Eisley? After coming out of _that_ hive with his mind and body intact, he estimated he could survive anything.

Not that his twenty-seven-year odyssey hadn't already testified to that.

And what he'd learned on that desert planet was the most bittersweet validation of his efforts. A single tear had escaped when he learned she was dead. Having cried at least two oceans over the years, one drop was all that remained.

Another tear escaped when he learned she'd given birth to a boy. A son.

His son.

Who was reportedly last seen on this planet. At least, that's what the moisture farmer and his wife claimed. They'd been mistrustful of him from start to finish, anxious to get him off their property. The information they offered could be flawed, intentionally or otherwise. But he had nothing else. This was his final chance to find the boy – no, the man – whom he'd never met, never known, and who had no reason to believe he existed.

Ainar was well accustomed to the feeling. To the universe at large, he'd technically ceased existing nearly three decades ago.

Not dead, but not legitimately alive, either. It was a bizarre, lonely limbo into which he'd been exiled.

The prospect of actually ending this saga, of stepping out of the void to embrace the one remaining person who could make him whole again… he'd waited so long that he no longer felt any thrill or excitement.

But that didn't mean he'd grown ambivalent. He hadn't run the longest race in the history of mankind only to halt ten feet from the finish line.

And so he'd come to pay late homage to the Jedi, a group the moisture farmer said Ainar's alleged son had once belonged to. Who these Jedi were was a mystery; the tight-lipped Owen Lars would only say that once Ainar found the Jedi temple in Imperial City, all would become clear.

Asking several citizens to direct him to that temple, he'd received many hostile, paranoid stares. A few skittered away, feigning poor hearing. He was starting to despair that Owen had in fact pointed him to a dead end, when at last someone took pity and responded.

"Not from around here, are ya?" the man with an eye patch and missing tooth grinned.

"No, not by a long shot," Ainar confirmed.

"Been livin' in a sarlacc's stomach for five years?"

"More or less."

Gnawing on the end of a hookah pipe, the old man leaned back to assess Ainar, squinting his good eye. "You ain't joking."

"Believe me, I wish I was."

The man heaved a dry cackle and shook his head in amazement. "Thought I'd seen everything. But someone who don't know 'bout what happened to the _Jedi?_ Heh, galaxy's fulla surprises."

"Pleased as I am to entertain you, I really would love to find the Jedi temple."

"Sorry, can't help ya."

Ainar could have throttled the man. "Why not?"

"Ain't called the 'Jedi temple' no more," he grinned, thinking himself clever.

"Forgive me," Ainar clenched his fists to keep his irritation in check. "What's the proper name now?"

"Imperial Force Memorial," the man wagged his head in mock reverence. "But most folks call it 'pigeon poop fortress.'"

"Charming. Now where do I find it?"

"Straight that way, then take a left... wait, no, that'll take ya right by Vader's place," the man rubbed his chin. "There's 'nother way, a little bit longer…"

"Who's Vader?"

Ainar feared the man's eye would pop out of his head. "You ain't _joking!_ Stars, ya really _have_ been livin' in a sarlacc!" he wheezed. "Who's _Vader?!_ The last person ya came here to meet, I guarantee ya _that!_"

Taken aback by the man's intensity, Ainar decided not to ask further questions. "All right then, what's the other route?"

"Ya know the Senate Building, big shroom-shaped dome in the center of town?"

Ainar nodded. It was impossible to miss _that_ distinctive structure.

"Stand on the front steps an' look left. You'll see a group of five towers 'bout a mile away. That's it."

_Five towers, got it_. "Thank you."

He was about to take off running when the old man casually added, "Ya won't get closer than a hundred yards."

Fuming, Ainar craned his head to glare at the man. "How come?"

"Shadow troopers everywhere. Won't let anyone in, 'cept for Palpatine an' his special guests," he sneered. "Don't take it personally. Been that way for years."

_Whoever Palpatine is_, Ainar muttered to himself. What was going on here? A million questions flooded his mind, but the vagabond slouched against the side of a dumpster probably wasn't the best source for answers. Directing him to the temple was greatly appreciated, but there had to be others – preferably those who'd bathed in the past month – better qualified to fill in the rest of the blanks.

"I'll be careful," were his parting words to the disheveled informant.

"Ya better be."

A chill wind carried the warning to Ainar's ears as his heart and feet pounded away. He dismissed the ominous tone as produced by rough, raspy vocal chords.

At least, that's what he hoped was making the hair on the back of his neck standing on edge.

There was no time to second-guess himself or make alternate plans. Twenty-seven years had been time enough for that.

He'd be damned if he let a one-eyed, ragged alley rat keep him from this glorious moment. Nothing and no one could stop him with the five-towered finish line in clear sight, its majestic spires growing taller and taller as he raced closer, until –

"_Halt!_"

Slowing, Ainar peered in every direction, seeing nothing but pale concrete and empty benches.

"One more step and you're under arrest!"

The voice sounded closer now, yet still the speaker was nowhere to be seen. Was this a trick? A cheap defense system that relied on intruders being easily spooked? Ainar Skywalker was no fool. He'd seen enough in his travels to recognize such tactics.

Setting his eyes on the distant temple's stairway, he charged ahead with renewed spirit.

His boots hit the pavement two more times before he fell to the ground, stunned by a blaster shot that came from nowhere. He was unconscious when five shadow troopers materialized, black armor uncloaking as they sheathed their weapons and knelt beside him.

"Inform Lord Vader there's been another trespasser."

"Lord Vader just departed for Alderaan for three days."

"Then we'll inform him when he returns," the leader concluded. "Lock this one in the main detention center until then. Level seven security."

"Yes sir."

"I'll alert the other squads to be extra vigilant. The Emperor is expected this afternoon, and you know how he dislikes uninvited guests."

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"_Imperial Force Memorial" was invented by me after reading how Palpatine altered/renovated the temple after ROTS. I figured if he tampered with the temple's statues and archived data, he'd change the official name too._

_Don't know if the directions to the Jedi temple are accurate or not._

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	5. Ch 5: Family & Fugitives

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**Chapter 5 – Family & Fugitives**

The tranquility of Aldera Palace's gardens was sublime, soothing all anxious spirits that passed within their borders. Crystal fountains sprinkled onto laughing children as their mother watched from a shaded bench, sketchbook in hand as she tried to capture the essence of the serenity around them. She'd never considered herself above an amateur artist, yet in this place, her talent seemed to flourish.

Then again, she might just be viewing her work through glasses as rosy as her soul. That was fine. Padmé wasn't aiming for gallery-worthy submissions, just something that spoke to her in this rare, perfect moment.

"Mom, did you see that huge butterfly land on me?"

"Come stand in the fountain, mom!"

"We don't have birds like that on Naboo!"

"Race you to that rosebush!"

"Quit splashing me!"

"You splashed me first!"

"Watcha drawing, mom?"

Padmé glanced up with a smile, their joy infectious and their squeals music to her ears. It had finally happened: Luke and Leia's cheer had rubbed off on her, transforming her entire outlook. This visit was whatever she chose to make of it. The choice was hers alone to view it as restorative rather than nerve-wracking.

She was proud. Brightening her attitude had required no small effort, but she'd done it – for the twins as much as herself. They deserved a mother who was fully present and shared in their delight… and who wasn't preoccupied with a strange man she'd spoken with for all of ten minutes.

Ainar hadn't crossed her mind in over twenty-four hours. In fact, he was so far from her mind that when Bail appeared under a nearby arbor, she thought he'd come to merely say hello.

"Good morning. May I interrupt?"

"Certainly, I was just finishing," she made one last mark with her pencil. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

"The kind Alderaan is famous for," Bail agreed, though he looked somewhat uneasy.

Setting her sketchpad down, Padmé blinked up at him. "Is something the matter?"

"I did the research you requested. On Ainar."

"Oh!" the matter refreshed in her mind and she sat up a little straighter.

"Before I continue, are you _absolutely_ sure of his name?"

"Yes!" she replied emphatically. "Why do you ask?"

He was clearly unsettled as he sat next to her. "Knowing how important this is to you, I ordered the most thorough search possible. Twelve aides and I worked until midnight to scan the records of every civilized planet in the galaxy."

Speechless at Bail's level of commitment, Padmé waited breathlessly for him to continue.

"I wasn't expecting to find much. Things like marriage records, property deeds, and other legal details can be hard to come by, depending on the system's government. But I thought I'd at least get _one_ bit of information that's universally available: a birth record."

Padmé nodded. "Yes, and?"

"He doesn't have one."

Bail's matter-of-fact delivery of this news contrasted with its utter absurdity. Padmé froze, staring at him blankly while trying to decide whether to shout or laugh.

"_What!_"

"That's why I wondered if you had the name wrong. Or maybe he lied to you?"

She suddenly felt light-headed. "No, he didn't! I could just… tell."

"Well, I'm sorry, but the evidence says otherwise," Bail frowned. "When nothing came back for his full name, I filtered just the last name of Skywalker, thinking he might be using an alias – just as you do. Very little came up besides Anakin and his late mother, Shmi. Just a few other ancestors, all deceased."

Somehow, through the disorienting fog clouding her brain, Padmé realized there was still something to gain from this mess. A chance for insight.

"What planet contained their records?"

"Zygerria, in the Chorlian sector."

"The slavers' system?"

"That's right. They profited from that business for centuries, until the Jedi interfered several years ago."

The pieces of Anakin's life were, sadly, beginning to fit together. His entire lineage was slave-born, repressed from the earliest days. No wonder he'd bridled at being controlled by the Jedi. The very blood in his veins burned to be free of the chains encoded in his DNA. It burned so fiercely that the line between oppression and loving guidance became charred. In the end, he couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

And now Padmé couldn't be sure where the facts ended and her sanity began.

The only logical explanation was that Ainar had lied. She had too, after all. "_We must all be careful in these dark times_."

It made perfect sense. So why did every fiber of her mind, body, and soul reject all common sense and insist Ainar was who he claimed to be?

The only thing she knew for sure was Bail had better things to do than listen to her argue the matter like a madwoman. He'd already given more of his time and energy than she deserved.

"Thank you for investigating this, Bail," she sighed.

He met her troubled eyes. "I'm sorry it was a disappointment. Truly I am."

"It wasn't a total loss. I learned something about… Anakin's past. His origins."

"Indeed," Bail nodded grimly. "There's always a silver lining, I suppose."

Padmé wiped a stray tear from her cheek, hoping he didn't see. "Well, I won't keep you. Palace business is far more important than my silly issues," she laughed dryly.

"I might object to that statement," he smiled. "But if you're fine with dismissing me, I'll see you later."

"Very good," she hugged him lightly.

Rising from the bench, Bail spotted the twins frolicking in the fountain and waved.

"Spin around and water the plants while you're at it!"

Luke responded by dunking Leia's head into the shallow pool, but he wasn't expecting her quick reflexes to drag him down with her. The feisty siblings really did kick and flail enough to generously sprinkle some of the surrounding bushes.

"They're definitely your children," Bail smirked over his shoulder at Padmé. "Two fish who love water more than land."

_That they are_, Padmé thought while smiling. Then, as Bail turned to walk away, her smile faded. _Their mischievousness, on the other hand, they inherited from someone else_…

Before she could indulge in the achingly poignant thought, a flurry of movement invaded her peripheral vision. Running at top speed toward her husband and Padmé, Queen Breha was flushed and panting when she reached them, placing a hand over her heart in relief.

"Oh… thank heavens… I found you," she gasped. "Padmé, you… and the children… must leave at once!"

Padmé stood immediately. "What's wrong?"

"Our scouts spotted… a shuttle landing in Aldera… just a few minutes ago," Breha slowly regained her breath. "It was _Darth Vader's_ shuttle!"

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Three hours into the voyage to Tatooine, Padmé's heart finally started beating normally again. As far as she could tell, Luke and Leia's breathing was calm again as well, though both sat stiffly in their seats on Bail's hyperspace jet. They'd barely spoken ten words since boarding in a terrified rush. When her children were this quiet, Padmé knew they were scared witless.

There was simply no sugarcoating this situation. There were no canned platitudes to offer them comfort. What reassuring words could be said when the Dark Lord, the one whose waking and sleeping dictated every move they made, had been within two miles of them that morning?

Had he known they were there? Had he come to end this passive game of cat and mouse forever?

So close… he'd been so close…

It still chilled Padmé to the point of needing a thick blanket, which she shivered beneath even now. Fists clenching it against her neck, she struggled to warm herself. Breha walked in from the cockpit to find her like this.

"Just think, another couple hours and you'll overheat from two suns shining on you," she tried to sound cheerful.

"Yes, and from embarrassment too," Padmé grimaced. "The twins and I are the last people Owen and Beru want in their home, I'm sure."

"Why do you believe that? You're a familiar face. You're family."

"Yes, family through marriage to someone who became the scourge of the galaxy. I doubt they'll appreciate the reminder."

"From what you've told me, they're good people."

"And I'm taking advantage of their good nature!" Padmé lamented. "If Bail had a brother who turned evil after marrying someone, would you want the products of that marriage running around the palace, eating your food?"

Breha placed a warm hand on Padmé's shoulder. "I would never hold any child accountable for its father's transgressions. That would be cruel, not to mention futile. Punishing them does absolutely nothing for justice."

"I only hope the Lars share your compassion."

"They will," Breha assured calmly, "they will."

Having done her best to alleviate her friend's fears, Breha returned to co-pilot the ship at Bail's side, leaving Padmé alone with her worries. She felt somewhat consoled, but not entirely. She simply didn't know Owen and Beru well enough to predict their reaction with certainty. She only knew that they'd be well within their rights to scoff at the unannounced, unwelcome arrival of these three Skywalkers at their door.

Unbeknownst to her, one of those three Skywalkers was debating whether or not to ask his mother something.

"Mom?"

Padmé broke her train of thought. "Yes Luke?"

"I… I was... sort of wondering..." the boy fidgeted self-consciously. "Is Uncle Obi-Wan… me and Leia's dad?"

Of all the questions in the universe, this was probably the last one Padmé expected. But judging by the intently curious look on Leia's face, his sister had known it was coming.

"Luke, you know what your father looks like! I've shown you and Leia plenty of pictures."

He said nothing, looking down at his hands.

"Honey, why would you ask me that? Of course Uncle Obi-Wan isn't your father. He can't be, because… your father died," she swallowed with difficulty. _Besides, your Jedi instincts should tell you it's not Obi-Wan, either_. _Where is this coming from?_

Too shy to answer, Luke stared out the window, clenching his cheeks in frustration. It was then that Leia spoke up.

"We know daddy's not dead."

Padmé was too stunned to speak. She stared at her daughter, whose brown eyes dared her to contradict that statement. When Padmé didn't, Leia spoke again.

"You told Aunt Breha that Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru don't like daddy. I can tell from the way you said it that he's not dead."

And the many, many challenges of raising bright, Force-sensitive children had just begun.

"Luke and I thought it might be Uncle Obi-Wan because he never comes with us," Leia concluded. "Maybe he doesn't want Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru to see him."

When would Padmé learn to be more careful when speaking in front of them? Now. Right now was when she'd learn.

Maneuvering through this minefield would take all the diplomatic experience she had.

"Sweetheart, I know you want to understand everything that's going on, but you have to trust me. There are some things you're too young to hear yet," she stroked Leia's hair. "Uncle Obi-Wan and I only want to keep you and Luke safe. It might not make sense now but it will someday, I promise."

Her precocious daughter pursed her lips. "Will we get to see daddy someday too?"

_Stars, when will this stop? They're killing me!_

"I wish you could," her voice shook. "But I don't think that can ever happen."

"Why not?" Luke demanded.

"Just because Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru don't like him?" Leia asked defiantly.

Oh, if only it were for so petty a reason as that…

"I'm sorry, you're too young to understand," Padmé felt like crying. "But someday you will." _Don't be in too much of a hurry to grow up and discover the truth, my loves. You don't realize how you'll long for these days of blissful ignorance_.

Pouting, the twins sat with arms crossed until they arrived at Tatooine, at which point their attention was consumed by the fascinating sights and sounds of Mos Eisley. They resumed their pouting when that circus ended with a boring ride into the desert.

Miles of sand and rocks later, they disembarked at a small bleached hut overlooking moisture evaporators. The Lars homestead was modest, especially in dull twilight. But it was safe shelter. And if the lights inside were any indication, its owners were in.

Whether they were inclined to offer a warm welcome remained to be seen. Gripping her luggage and trying to cloak herself in Breha's words of wisdom, Padmé strode forward.

She was only too glad to let Luke and Leia do the knocking, which they took great pride in doing. The five-year-olds grinned excitedly at each other as they waited for someone to appear.

"I told you people not to come back!" Owen shouted angrily from inside. "This is your last warning! Get off my property or I'll start shooting!"

Petrified, all three dropped to the ground, not knowing what to do. Padmé started to hyperventilate. She'd expected a frosty reception, but this was a whole other level of hostility!

"You hear me, scum? If I never see your filthy hides again, it'll be too soon!"

Luke began to whimper and soon Leia was crying, too terrified to remain silent. Cradling them at her sides, Padmé prepared to shield them blaster shots. Yet they were all dumbstruck when, instead of firing, Owen poked his head out the nearest window and hit the back of his skull in shock.

"Padmé…? Is that _you?!_" he squinted in the dim light. "Holy banthas! I'm so sorry!"

It sounded like several objects were broken and/or tripped over in his rush for the door. When he opened it, a startled Beru looked on as her husband scrambled to help Padmé and the children up.

"I didn't mean to scare you half to death, honest! I didn't know it was you! I thought it was those jerks from Jabba's palace!"

Brushing herself off, Padmé stared at him in astonishment. "Trouble with the Hutts?"

"Unfortunately yes," he ushered them in. "You're the first welcome guests we've had in months!"

"We're both relieved, then. I feared you might turn us away."

Leaning in to hug them all, Beru looked mortified. "Never! What sort of people do you take us for?"

Padmé smiled ruefully. "It's who _we_ are, not you."

"_You_ are family," she smiled at Luke and Leia, who were still a little on edge. "Now come in. I need to undo Owen's damage before bedtime."

The damage was undone soon enough; the conversation was tenuously cheerful until Padmé told them her reason for being there. Mindful of the twins, Owen and Beru chose their response carefully, conveying empathy and concern without saying too much. When Padmé thanked them, they knew it was for their compassion as well as their discretion.

"Bail and Breha will let us know when it's safe to return to Naboo," she explained. "It shouldn't be much longer than two weeks."

"You can stay as long as needed," Beru assured her.

"Hope you all don't mind sharing a bedroom," Owen said.

"We don't," Padmé caught Luke and Leia's eyes. They didn't look put out. If they were like her, they'd have gladly slept in a hole in the ground if it meant safety from _him_.

"And be forewarned, there have been some odd folk stopping by lately."

"The Hutt agents?"

"Yeah," Owen crossed his arms. "First pair showed up a few months ago and asked if we'd ever considered selling this farm."

"They offered us far more than it's worth," Beru added. "But neither of us trusted them. Something felt off."

"And they didn't take no for an answer. Came back a month later and weren't nearly as friendly."

"Then last week, there were four of them."

"They said Jabba would have the land whether we sold it to him or not," Owen scowled. "Well, if they think Owen Lars runs from threats like that, they're even dumber than they look!"

Padmé shifted uneasily. Were she and the children any safer here than on Naboo or Imperial Center? Was there nowhere free of tension and menace anymore?

There really wasn't. This was not the same galaxy in which she'd grown up. No matter where you ran, peril nipped at your heels, just waiting for you to run out of breath.

"Do you have any idea why Jabba's so interested in a moisture farm?" she asked.

Owen shrugged. "Politics. Money. Maybe both. Your guess is as good as mine."

"And we still don't know if it has anything to do with that other man," Beru threw him a cautious glance.

"How could I _forget?_" he rolled his eyes. "Now _he_ was a weird one!"

"Who's that?" Padmé asked, almost laughing.

"Freak show who came by last week. You wouldn't believe the things he said."

"Like what?"

Leaning forward, Owen raised his eyebrows. "That he was Anakin's _father_."

Padmé felt the bench beneath her give way.

"He said… _what?_" she whispered, paralyzed.

"Completely out of his mind!" Owen howled. "I was gonna shoot him out of here, but you know Beru and her heart of gold."

"He said he'd traveled, oh, I don't know how many light years to get here," Beru justified. "He might have been crazy, but I hated to turn him away empty-handed. So we told him about Shmi and Anakin."

"Figured he'd just keep bothering us until we told him anyway," Owen huffed.

Beru fidgeted her hands. "Say what you will, he _did_ look like he could have been…"

"All right, so he was a dead ringer for Anakin in twenty years! I can't tell Twi'leks apart, so does that make them all brothers and sisters?"

"I don't want to argue," she held up her hands. "I'm just saying, crazy or not, he fit the part."

"Either way, I'm glad he hasn't come back. Now if Jabba's posse would only do the same…"

The rest of Owen's grumblings were lost on Padmé as Ainar's face filled her vision. For someone who shouldn't exist, he was unnervingly hard to ignore, much less forget.

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	6. Ch 6: Jailmates

_Sorry the updates have been slow. Husband & I have been preparing for 2 young foster children to arrive, so it's been a little hectic. This chapter's pretty fun, so hopefully that makes up for it. :)_

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**Chapter 6 – Jailmates **

Three things were amiss when Ainar awoke. First was the rock-hard mattress digging into his shoulder blades and aching skull. Second was the stale-smelling air filtering through his nostrils. And third were the unlikely lyrics that roused him from a dreamless sleep.

"…ninety-two wookiees swing down from the trees, ninety-two wookiees swing dooowwn, one gets shot, it happens a lot, ninety-one wookiees left in the trees..."

Wincing from pain and irritation, Ainar slowly sat up, blinking at the pale cell walls. On the far side hummed a force field from floor to ceiling.

"Ninety-one wookiees swing down from the trees…"

His head ached far too much for this. He was in no state to appreciate music, even if it were the finest opera in the galaxy – and this boy's singing was certainly a far cry from that.

"Would you keep it down!" he shouted, rubbing his eyes.

The singing was replaced by the sound of boots scuffling to the edge of their cell.

"Hey! You got somethin' better to entertain us?"

"All I've _got_ is a splitting headache!" Ainar called back. "So save the audition for when you get out!"

"Pardon me, your _supreme highness_," the voice replied sarcastically. "In case you haven't noticed, this ain't a five-star resort! There's no room service, and there ain't no day shift manager to file a noise complaint! Untwist your panties an' get over it."

Ainar sighed. Today really was growing tiresome, if only for the dreadful grammar he kept being exposed to. First the eye patch man, now this brat? Was there nobody half educated on this planet?

"Then let's take a poll. Who else wants the boy to keep singing?"

There was silence – except for some muffled snickering.

"Ain't no one here but us two womp rats, buddy!"

_Perfect. Marvelous_. Ainar groaned. His captors sure knew how to sufficiently punish a man.

"Last guy got dragged out two weeks ago for execution," the boy continued. "If I didn't sing, I'd go nuts."

"Would you settle for simple conversation instead?"

"Suppose so. You got a face?"

Dragging himself to the force field, Ainar peered across the aisle to see a boy of about fifteen staring back at him. The shaggy-haired youth was leaning smugly against the wall, arms crossed as he assessed the older jailmate. He smirked.

"Two humans, huh? Lame, 'specially for a high-security joint like this."

"You're not exactly what I hoped for company, either," Ainar retorted drily. "But like you said, there's no hospitality committee we can appeal to."

The boy snorted. "No eye candy either. I keep waitin' for a chick to walk by, but the Empire's just one big sausage fest."

Ainar couldn't help but laugh. "What a shame."

"Tell me 'bout it," the boy scuffed the heel of one boot against the wall. "So what'd you do, anyway? No offense, but I've seen ten-year-olds rougher than you. Heck, I _was_ rougher five years ago!"

"Trespassing," Ainar said simply.

His acquaintance made a face. "_Trespassing?_ That's it? You should be at the day spa across town, where they send old ladies who cheated on Imperial tax returns!"

"What can I say? They took it personally, I guess. What about you? You're a little young to wind up here."

"I'll take that as a compliment," the boy grinned, flipping unruly brown hair from his eyes. "I saw an Imperial shuttle I liked, so I took it. Woulda gotten away with it too, if it didn't have special cargo for some douche named Vader. Guess I picked the wrong ship at the wrong time."

"We both wagered poorly," Ainar gave a wan smile_. And that's the second time I've heard Vader's name today_. "Well, as long as we're stuck here, we may as well introduce ourselves. I'm Ainar Skywalker."

"Han Solo," the boy saluted.

"Pleased to meet you, Han."

"Pleasure's all mine," Han replied. "Skywalker –why does that ring a bell?" he narrowed his eyes, trying to remember. "I started hearin' that name 'round the time my folks died, when I was seven. Some big shot during the Clone Wars, I think."

Trying not to appear overly interested, Ainar shifted his posture. "What else do you remember?"

"Not much. I was too busy stayin' alive on Shrike's crew to worry 'bout no war," Han yawned. "So are you related, or what?"

Ainar locked his facial muscles to keep his composure. "Most likely."

"Well, good luck findin' him. I heard he up an' vanished when the war ended. Just disappeared without a trace."

_Why didn't the Lars say so? Why tell me he's on this planet?_ Ainar clenched his fists as his neck grew warm with indignation. If he'd been incarcerated over a wild goose chase, there'd be no greater insult or injury.

There'd also be no telling what would become of his mind. Twenty-seven years of agonizing, endless searching, all to end up in a hundred-square-foot cell with this urchin talking his ear off? No. Fate wouldn't be that cruel. He forbade it to be. As long as breath still filled his lungs, he'd never lose hope, even if the entire galaxy believed his quest a futile one.

Vanished didn't mean dead. It meant cleverly hidden, and well worth the effort to find.

Seeing Ainar's pale complexion, Han felt a sting of compassion. "Sorry, thought you knew."

"I know very little compared to most people," Ainar said hoarsely. "My ignorance would shock you."

"Hey, I wouldn't know much either if I'd stayed in my cozy little yard on Corellia. I learned more in eight years on a pirate ship than I ever woulda in school."

At least Han provided Ainar adequate distraction from greater troubles. "A pirate ship?"

"Ever heard of Captain Garris Shrike?"

Ainar shook his head apologetically.

"Consider yourself lucky!" Han bellowed. "Cross him once, you _might_ walk away with your pants. Cross him twice, you _don't_ walk away."

"And yet you somehow managed," Ainar cocked his head.

"That's right," Han beamed. "Only took me eight years to do it, too. Most guys take twice that long. Most don't make it half a parsec before ol' Shrike puts 'em in their place, either."

"How many parsecs was it before the _Empire_ put you in your place?"

"Hey, old man's got a sharp tongue!" Han crowed. "You ain't the sweet ol' grandpa I took ya for!"

It was Ainar's turn to smirk, though with more sadness than Han displayed. "Age is a state of mind… and I've yet to learn whether I'm a grandpa or not."

Han looked at him like he was crazy. "You don't know if you've got grandkids? Ain't that like not knowin' if you've got _kids?_"

The unfathomable expression on Ainar's face told Han he'd struck a nerve he shouldn't have. Unable to verbalize a reply, Ainar was about to retreat from the boy's line of sight when Han rushed to apologize.

"Hey, wait – I'm sorry. Promise I won't say nothin' else stupid like that. It's none of my business."

The teenager's contrition touched Ainar. Eight years of having a pirate as his role model hadn't stripped him of _all_ decency. There might be hope for him yet. That, along with the soul-crushing weight of twenty-seven years of emotional solitude, impelled Ainar to face him again.

"It's not your fault. You could never guess my burdens," he avoided Han's eyes. "Even your wildest, darkest nightmares can't compare."

Waiting in respectful silence, Han slid into a seated position, wrists locked against his knees. Something in the old man's presence had shifted dramatically. Han anticipated neither of them would be exchanging sarcastic barbs anytime soon.

"What's the furthest you've been from the Core?" Ainar began, rubbing his eyes.

"All over, from Kessel to Utapau an' everywhere in-between," Han answered proudly. "Even Rakata Prime, out in the middle of nowhere."

"The Outer Rim," Ainar summarized. "No further?"

"Nope… that's pretty much the limit. Any further an' it's the Unknown Regions, or worse."

"By 'worse,' you mean the hyperspace disturbance surrounding the galaxy?"

"Yeah. Ain't no way through it."

Ainar smirked ever so slightly, but his eyes remained vapid. "A pervasive myth."

"What, you're gonna tell me you've been to the other side?" Han guffawed, forgetting his resolution to remain polite. "Sorry old man, but I think you've inhaled a few too many hyperdrive fumes in your time!"

"I'm surprised," Ainar crossed his arms. "An accomplished traveler such as yourself hasn't heard of the Helska portal?"

Han frowned. "Helska? I've been there. Couple of times. Never heard of no _portal_."

"It's just northwest of the planet. Given our present confinement, you'll just have to take my word for it."

"And if I don't?"

"Then you're as good as hallucinating," Ainar said flatly. "Because if it weren't for that portal, I wouldn't be in this cell now, trying to convince some lop-haired punk I've been to hell and back, with a million detours along the way."

Crazy or not, Ainar's conviction burned enough to make Han blink. The lens through which the boy viewed him was shifting.

"Are you saying you ain't from this galaxy?"

"Do I look like I am?"

Han squinted, unsure if it was a trick question. "Uh, yes? Wait… no?" he second-guessed the semantics. "I mean, you _look_ human. But for all I know you could be one of them shape shifters."

"I can think of a lot more intimidating species to mimic than human," Ainar chuckled. "Sorry, but what you see is what you get."

"Then what'd ya mean by saying that portal's the only reason you're here?"

"I never said it's the _only_ reason," Ainar replied cryptically. "It's more complicated than that."

"So let's hear it."

Suddenly Ainar's desire for catharsis vanished. Full, candid disclosure seemed so appealing minutes ago, yet now… the idea of speaking the truth aloud, after so many years of keeping it sealed within his skull, made his stomach churn. Who was this boy that he should be the first to hear? Why should a wayward teen have the privilege of knowing Ainar's poignant legacy before… before the one he'd traveled countless light years to find?

It wasn't right. He couldn't do this. Spoken to anyone but his son, it would be tantamount to an abomination.

"I'm sorry… I can't say any more," he clenched his jaw, averting his gaze.

Han rolled his eyes, making no attempt to hide his dissatisfaction. "Oh sure, I _love_ half-finished stories. Thanks a ton."

Awkward tension followed with both prisoners shifting uneasily in seated positions. While Ainar closed his eyes and hoped to reopen them on any scene but the current one, Han silently studied him. Even with eyes shut and face impassive, the man's mental exhaustion was obvious. The faint lines tracing his forehead ran far beneath the skin, creasing his very soul.

The longer Han stared, the more he felt the unbidden – and somewhat unpleasant – pangs of compassion. This man wasn't some fellow shipmate on board the _Trader's Luck_. He deserved better than cynical taunting. Though it had been many, many years since Han last encountered empathy, the rusty memory might be useful enough.

"I really am sorry. Shrike always said I don't know when to shut my mouth."

Ainar said nothing, but his eyes slit open.

"Look, we'll both go crazy if we don't keep talkin'. Let's just start over. If you don't wanna answer, I won't give ya a hard time."

"We'll see how long you stick to that promise," Ainar murmured.

"I mean it this time! Pirate's honor."

"In _that_ case, I have nothing to fear!"

Han gave a rueful smirk. "Well, I ain't a pirate anymore, so I guess that don't mean much anyway."

"What do you plan to do instead?"

Han picked at a loose thread on his tunic. "Smugglin'."

Ainar snorted. "One illicit career to another? How creative."

"Not a lot of options for guys like me!" Han defended. "You try pullin' yourself up by your bootstraps when your luck's run out, an' nobody knows or cares who ya are!"

Fixing Han with a level, unblinking stare, Ainar exhaled slowly.

"I _have_."

Dumbfounded, Han looked at him incredulously, trying to discern whether he was exaggerating or not. Instinct told him the man wasn't.

"So what'd _you_ used to be?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Ainar paused a long moment before answering. With significant effort, he uttered another pair of words.

"A slave."

Han marveled at how constantly his perception of Ainar was changing on a minute-by-minute basis. Partly out of reverence, and partly out of shock, he digested the information slowly before speaking again.

"Wow," the boy rubbed his chin, where faint stubble grew. "You really _did_ make it from nothin'."

"Excluding the error in judgment that landed me here, of course."

"Yeah… but still. I never knew no slave to escape, much less survive on his own. You must be tougher 'n nails!"

The compliment was sincere, but it triggered an onslaught of raw, ragged emotions too powerful for Ainar to speak over. A thin, grateful smile was all he could offer at the moment.

"Bet you hate bein' stuck in here even more than I do," Han reflected. "You get away from one prison an' land in another. Freedom never lasts long, does it?"

Like any teenager, Han assumed more knowledge than he should. He thought a mere eight years marauding the skies made him an expert in the psychology of survival. That it put him in the distinguished position of judging one's tenacity – along with one's inner compass of freedom and captivity.

What he'd someday learn, however, was that the line between those two concepts wasn't always clearly defined. One could float weightlessly in the epicenter of the universe without a single gate or force field in sight – yet such limitless freedom could taste bitterer than a hundred years in chains. One might wish, even beg, to be pursued by bounty hunters and pirates alike, if freedom was a worse fate.

Ainar knew the ironic sting of such circumstances. While he might prefer to be outside this detention cell rather than in it, he knew to be careful what he wished for.

Regardless of where he was, at least he carried one small comfort no one had yet discovered. Folded and tucked under the insole of his boot was a well-worn piece of paper that he quietly extracted now. It had seen better days, nearly falling apart along the creases as he gingerly opened it. A few strips of yellowed tape held it together just enough.

The photograph on the side facing him never failed to bring a tear to his eye. Some force greater than him had kept her image clear and intact all these years.

The hand-drawn sketch on the other side he seldom looked at. There was no point. Drawing it in excruciating detail hadn't magically transported him back to the place, nor had staring at it for endless hours done so either. He'd been tempted on multiple occasions to obliterate it with a dirty eraser, but something stopped him each time. If he erased it, he may as well erase her, too.

And so he carried both images, the weight of which he swore he could feel whenever he walked. One of beauty and timeless love, the other of sorrow and destruction.

The former had a name.

_Shmi._

The latter also had a name, though he had yet to learn it.

_Mortis._

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_Bit by little bit, the mysterious pieces are revealed…_

_I loved writing this chapter. Teenage Han Solo as comic relief… does it get any better? Don't worry, you haven't seen the last of him._

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	7. Ch 7: A Thousand Words

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**Chapter 7 – A Thousand Words**

To say, on any given day, that Vader was in a bad mood would be redundant at best. Yet it was especially true the morning of his return from Alderaan. Three days of fruitless searching and dead-end leads had him seeing even more red than usual.

Other than the brief yet scorching headache he'd suffered when landing at his destination, the trip had been intolerably uneventful.

First order of business back on Imperial Center: track down the fool who advised the Emperor that several Jedi were hiding on Alderaan. And then ensure they didn't live to mislead someone another day.

As if he didn't already have enough to do. In addition to transmitting orders to review the 500 Republica footage, Palpatine expected Vader to meet with Xizor that afternoon. Just the two of them. With no third party to buffer their antagonism.

Just when he thought the day couldn't become more laborious, a transmission from the local detention center requested his immediate presence. Code 766, it said.

Blinking at his datapad, Vader paused halfway down the shuttle ramp. Code 766 meant a temple trespasser.

No one had been moronic enough to trigger a Code 766 for two or three years. Possibly even longer. If memory served, the last person arrested was a half-senile homeless man seeking shelter. He hadn't been worth imprisoning for longer than a few days.

Was it the same offender again, after all this time? Would the eye-patched man just repeat this desperate cycle every few years? Vader continued to stare at the datapad. Faint yet undeniable, his senses told him it wasn't the vagabond. Reinforcing that suspicion was the fact that the detention guards had notified him the minute he touched down. They knew better than to hassle him with insignificant matters. At least, if they knew what was good for them, they did.

Either way, Vader would get some sport. If the prisoner didn't prove worthy of executing, then the guards would. He was eager to find out which.

He saw no reason not to indulge his curiosity before meeting Xizor. It wouldn't take long, and a little diversion might be just what he needed to tackle the afternoon. Even the briefest visit to terrified inmates could lift his spirits for days.

To the detention center he went with a slight spring in his step. Upon entering, two guards greeted him with sharp salutes and led him down a black-tiled hall. Past several empty cells they marched until halting at one whose resident lay sleeping, back turned to them.

Vader concentrated on the man's Force signature, breathing the filaments of his spirit to learn his essence. What he found nearly made his respiratory device short-circuit.

Moments like this made him all the more grateful for the helmet obscuring his face. Having the guards see his wide-eyed, startled expression definitely wouldn't enhance the reputation he aimed to cultivate.

Meanwhile, he wished dearly to see the prisoner's face. Would it appear as impressive as his Force signature indicated? Vader breathed it in again, his mouth agape at the raw, untamed energy he tasted. It was unlike anything he'd ever encountered. Such massive power coursed through the man's veins… yet it lacked form or control. The paradox left Vader feeling off-balance.

A Force signature this strong was surely that of a former Jedi. Why, then, did it seem he hadn't received one minute of formal training? How had he dodged recruitment when the Jedi could've smelled his potential halfway across the galaxy?

This "little diversion" was turning out to be something else entirely.

Compelled to speak, Vader asked the first logical question, though he already knew the answer.

"Was he found with a lightsaber?"

"No, my lord. No weapons of any kind."

Of course not. The man defied all natural laws.

"Anything else? Comlink, datapad, identification?"

"Not to our knowledge, sir, but Commander TK212 was the one who processed him. I believe he has additional details for you when he returns from this morning's security sweep."

"When will that be?"

"Any moment now, sir."

_Good. A few minutes to interrogate him myself_. "Wake him."

"Yes, sir."

Entering a code on the wall panel, the guard sent a low-impulse electricity arc toward the prisoner, who quickly jerked from his sleep. Vader watched with intense interest as the man pushed himself up to sit, rubbing his neck and blinking in disoriented shock. It didn't take long for him to sense the need to turn around.

And when he did, Vader's breathing stopped for the second time.

Even through the filtered distortions of his visor, it was plain as day.

The pair of startled eyes looking up at him were identical to those he once saw in the mirror.

But that was ages ago – before he pledged to never expose his unmasked self to another reflective surface again.

"What is the meaning of this?" Vader demanded, temper rising.

The guards hesitated, looking at each other. "Pardon?"

"Who _is_ this man?!"

"I – I don't know, sir," the senior officer replied. "Commander TK212 can tell–"

"Can tell you right now," the commander interrupted from behind, saluting. "TK212 returning from security rounds, my lord. I hope you haven't waited long."

"Long enough. Why haven't your men been briefed on this prisoner's details?"

TK212 holstered his blaster uneasily. "Because they lack Level Three clearance, sir."

Processing the implications in an instant, Vader addressed the first two guards. "You are dismissed."

Only when they'd completely vanished from sight did he face the commander again.

"My apologies, sir. I wasn't expecting you to arrive so quickly. I thought I could complete the rounds before –"

"Spare me the excuses, commander!" Vader snapped. "Just explain why this man is considered a Level Three security threat! The criteria for Level Three is quite narrow, and I fail to see how a Code 766 violation qualifies!"

The commander resisted the urge to tremble beneath Vader's tall, dark frame. "My lord, I was prepared to record it as Level Two, according to protocol. But I was forced to change it when the prisoner gave his name."

His _name_ was all it took? He must be a former Jedi after all – one who'd let his skills atrophy significantly since the Order disbanded. Maybe he hoped to avoid detection by doing so.

It would be entertaining to learn this fugitive's identity before Vader revealed his own. It was a rare pleasure to induce utter shock in a former colleague mere seconds before slaying them. How unfortunate that when Order 66 at last reached closure, those moments would become extinct.

So he'd just make sure to cherish this one for all it was worth.

"His name, then?"

"Ainar Skywalker."

The words came not from TK212's mouthpiece but from the prisoner himself, who sat with spine straight and shoulders squared. His piercing blue eyes stared defiantly at the two helmeted men.

"I'm getting tired of you both speaking as if I weren't here."

Impatiently awaiting recognition, Ainar couldn't have guessed his captors were mute for very different reasons. While TK212 chose not to speak, Vader struggled to remember which muscles moved his tongue.

It was strange, hearing a word for the first time in five years. The brain recognized the syllables but couldn't immediately process their meaning. Like a distorted echo through a canyon, it sounded both familiar and alien. Had he really just heard that cadence of speech? Or was his mind playing tricks on him?

More than likely, it was the prisoner playing the tricks.

And not for much longer.

Vader clenched both fists. "Did Obi-Wan send you?"

"Nobody _sent_ me," Ainar frowned. "I fell into this all by myself."

"Did you also give yourself that last name?"

Ainar didn't understand the disdain behind the question. "If being born with it counts, I suppose I'm guilty as charged."

His fury building at an alarming rate, Vader took a threatening step forward.

"Wrong answer. You have one last chance to respond. What you say will determine how humane your execution will be."

"My _what?_" Ainar stood at once, looking urgently from one set of black lenses to the other. "Hold on just a minute! Nobody said anything about execution!"

"That is the penalty for setting foot on Imperial Force Memorial grounds. Or do you feign ignorance of that statute as well?"

"Yes, I do!" Ainar shouted vehemently. "Only I'm not feigning it!"

Vader was one breath away from performing an improvised execution then and there, but halfway through raising his hand, he paused. Instead of the terror, this man emitted nothing but indignation. Even more perplexing was the lack of deceit Vader sensed in his assertions. And as Ainar's Force signature indicated, he was far too undisciplined to conceal the truth effectively.

Hadn't Vader come here hoping for a diversion? Wasn't this puzzle exactly that? How many times had he complained about the lack of intrigue in his daily duties? _Don't be too hasty to end him, Vader. Fun is such a rarity these days._

Besides, even less advanced creatures indulged in playing with their food once in a while. Why shouldn't he?

He'd begin by asking something he seldom had to. Yet for a number of reasons – mostly Ainar's impudence – it seemed necessary.

"Do you know who I am?"

Blinking cautiously, Ainar wasn't sure if this turn in the conversation meant his penalty was waived. Or maybe it was just another round of senseless questioning, the answers to which would probably be no better accepted than the first. _Oh well. I've never been good at lying, so if it's all the same anyway, at least I'll die with integrity_.

"No," he sighed.

_That explains his boldness. But how such ignorance can remain after five years…_

"You are not a young man," Vader observed. "Where were you during the Clone Wars?"

"Elsewhere," came the enigmatic reply.

"Were you also 'elsewhere' when Emperor Palpatine assumed the throne at the war's end?"

"Evidently, yes."

"You are either an exceptionally skilled liar, or the biggest fool alive," Vader was beginning to enjoy this. "Not one life form in this galaxy is unaware of me. Even the paramecia of Dagobah's swamps know my name."

Ainar nodded slightly. "I'm supposed to fear you."

"You don't?"

For a moment, all Ainar could see was his darkened reflection in Vader's mask. A mask obviously crafted for no other intent than to frighten. The most grotesque element of a suit that, judging by the life support panel in front, wasn't merely superficial like stormtrooper armor. Whoever this man was, he was broken. Not whole.

Just as Ainar himself was, though in decidedly less visible ways.

It mattered little that this was clearly not the intended focus of the suit. Where any other man would see terror incarnate, Ainar saw something more. Perhaps it was the deleterious effects of prolonged deep space travel catching up with him, but standing just short of eye level with this cyborg, he felt no fear.

Ainar could almost count the victims that had fallen at this tyrant's feet. Their deaths flashed before him now – constricted throats and glassy eyes, torsos skewered with a red blade, spines crushed by brutal impact against the wall. It was exceedingly gruesome.

Common sense told him he'd meet a similar fate. No one who'd stood where he currently did, facing the same black mask, had ever survived.

What psychosis was it that made him think he'd be the first exception?

He had no explanation. None for himself, and certainly none that would satisfy his conversation partner. Again, honesty was his only recourse.

"No," he sounded as mystified as he felt. "I don't."

_Unbelievable._

Vader fumed. Was there no end to the absurdity? Without an ounce of defiance or bravado, the man had just said what billions across the galaxy never could. Not without trembling knees and a confirmed schizophrenia diagnosis, that is.

Diverting or not, Vader had just about had enough of this. He was running out of questions that wouldn't invite ludicrous answers.

"You will," Vader swore. "Very soon."

Ainar saw no discernible advantage in arguing.

"Before we end this charming encounter, I will know one last thing," Vader declared. "Why did you attempt to enter the Force Memorial?"

"I went in search of someone. I was told he might be found there."

That got Vader's attention. A rendezvous at the former Jedi temple? Suddenly his interest boomeranged back to Order 66.

"Really? Who?"

Ainar's eyes flickered. "Anakin Skywalker."

Neither Ainar nor TK212 were prepared for the storm that besieged the detention block.

Light bulbs buzzed and sparked. The force field fluctuated, patches and empty bands rippling through it. A low hum filled the air, tickling Ainar's eardrums as it mounted into a full-scale vibration of every air molecule.

This was no earthquake. It was worse.

How long it lasted, Ainar couldn't say. Time and space seemed to bend under Vader's wrath, compressed like the flesh and blood necks he so often grasped.

"Your foolishness knows no limit!" the dark lord hissed. "I'd kill you now, but you deserve a far more excruciating death than asphyxiation!"

Ainar watched speechlessly as Vader stalked away, black cape billowing with a vengeful flourish.

"Commander, await further instruction. I must consult the Emperor on the appropriate course of action."

"Yes sir," TK212 acknowledged. "And what of the other prisoner?"

"What other prisoner?" Vader barked.

The soldier pointed to a nearby cell. "The boy caught hijacking a shuttle carrying oxygen for your hyperbaric chambers. He's presently out doing yard labor."

"Have him meet the same fate I assign Ainar."

"Understood, sir."

That was all. Nothing else remained to be said.

TK212 had no interest in prying into Vader's tantrum. Despite serving the Empire as a senior officer for many years, he still didn't entirely understand Level Three security breaches. Well, he understood those concerning the Jedi. Anyone caught impersonating, harboring, or communicating with a Jedi was automatically Level Three.

It was the guidelines concerning the Skywalker name that TK212 found arbitrary. Then again, if stating the name was enough to make Vader go postal, there must be some validity to the rule.

He wouldn't lose any sleep trying to determine why. But it was safe to say Ainar would.

So much for the unshakable conviction that he'd be spared.

So much for the past twenty-seven years.

So this was how the saga ended: alone in a box whose right angles cut like knives into his soul. What a darkly fitting end for one who'd sought stable shelter over half his life.

For better or worse, it didn't get more stable than this, the last home he'd ever know.

Slowly collapsing to the floor, Ainar closed his eyes and surrendered to utter grief. _Forgive me, son. I failed you. And your mother…_

…_maybe someday, somehow, the Force will reunite us…_

…_but if it couldn't now, what hope is there?_

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Even had Ainar's eyes been open, he couldn't have seen far enough down the corridor to watch Vader sweep past the control counter – and then double back in pure disbelief.

Occupied with checking computer systems, TK212 barely noticed the Sith lord staring, mesmerized, at a slip of paper on the counter. The tips of Vader's Mandalorian glove pinched it with breathless care as he brought it closer.

_Is this just another sick joke? Haven't there been enough this morning?_

Forcing air into his lungs, he tried to look up at the soldier but his eyes refused to move.

"Where did this come from?"

TK212 glanced up, distracted. "That was confiscated from the prisoner."

"Which one?"

"The older one," the commander said absently. "Ainar."

_As if it could have possibly have been the boy_…

But the point was that neither of them should possess such an image. Nobody should. Nobody _did_ – not even Vader himself. He'd burned every photo of Anakin Skywalker's loved ones in a small pyre five years ago. It may not have succeeded in keeping their faces from his dreams, but it should have at least kept him from seeing them while awake.

This picture shouldn't exist. Not here, not anywhere. Yet his visor didn't lie.

The fabric of the universe folded in on Vader as he realized the prisoner might not have, either.

The full, terrible implications of this were not to be contemplated in a cold prison lobby. His palace was the only sanctuary for such a task. Without another word to the commander, he departed, all other things forgotten as he drifted through Imperial Center's streets. By the time he arrived at the foot of his obelisk, he had but one cogent thought.

He'd be delaying his consultation with Palpatine indefinitely.

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	8. Ch 8: Personal Day

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**Chapter 8 – Personal Day **

A stack of 500 Republica data discs sat untouched near Vader's multimedia station. Their reflective surfaces scattered the incoming sunlight until well past noon. From one hour to the next, they kept watch over the immobile figure who was supposed to be viewing them, not staring at a blank corner of the room.

Vader, obstinate to the last, refused to rise from his Grael wood chair until he'd exhausted every mental avenue. One of them was bound to lead him somewhere sane, rational… simple and polished, like the deep crimson armrests on which his fists rested. Yet three hours of rigorous concentration had taken him nowhere. To his anger and exasperation, all paths converged on the same maddening point.

_No!_ That couldn't be it. Logic would soon prevail, and he'd dismiss all this nonsense with laughter. Palpatine would never have to know that, for an embarrassing number of hours, Vader had wrestled with the prospect of Ainar being his… his…

He couldn't bring himself to think it, much less say it. It was the only thing more outrageous than the picture he held.

If he gazed long enough, losing himself in the faded edges of her face, she almost came alive. Her gentle eyes blinked back at him, mercifully blind to the face staring at her. Was it his imagination, or did those eyes appear happier than he remembered? Did the corners of her mouth form a more contented smile, even if only slightly?

Either time had corrupted Vader's memories, or this photo was taken at a time in Shmi's life he never witnessed. Try as he may, he couldn't recall seeing her eyes glisten with half as much joy as they did here. Force knew she'd tried valiantly to elevate their hearts above their slavery, always wearing a mask of strength and optimism. Only after his childhood passed had he come to fully appreciate her efforts.

There was no visible effort in this photo. No mask. It was his mother at her best – as he'd never known her.

That meant the photo was as old as its frayed border suggested. It predated his conscious memory, the better part of his childhood, and possibly…

Even his birth.

Vader's brain retched at the concept.

Like it or not, the evidence was steadily mounting, and this was one situation that couldn't be resolved with strangulation or a well-placed lightsaber.

No, that wasn't entirely true. Nothing prevented him from pulling the trigger on Ainar. Perhaps he was over-thinking it all, and the simplest solution was to kill the man, burn this picture, and walk away without a backwards glance.

Although, how well had that strategy served him with Padmé?

Not well. Not well at all. Because paper incinerated far more easily than one's conscience.

But was it his conscience that thwarted clear thinking now? What did his guilt over Shmi's death have to do with deciding whether or not to believe Ainar was once her…

Husband?

Lover?

Molester?

Slamming his fist, Vader shook his head with a guttural growl. _No. Not the last one. I can only accept so many possibilities, and_ that _one exceeds my tolerance_.

Yet of the three, it was the scenario most likely to impel a woman to lie about her child's conception.

Vader growled again, wanting to pound his chair into splinters. _Wait… a molester would not carry a photo like this for decades. He cherishes it. Not in a possessive, psychopathic way, but with genuine affection_. Hope instantly returned to Vader's breast.

And so did uneasiness. Why? If the odds favored the husband/lover hypothesis, what was still feeding this agitation?

The answer lay embedded in the photo. The uncommon joy filling his mother's eyes had a source – a secret he'd grown into manhood never knowing. A gaping piece of his identity withheld. Something that would've been infinitely more healing than a lifetime of forced smiles and brave masks. Why, then, had she only ever offered him the latter?

Clarity at last. Vader wasn't in denial of Ainar's identity because he detested the idea of having a father. It was the impugning of Shmi's character that tormented him. The minute he acknowledged Ainar, every pristine memory of his mother would shatter. And even if he reassembled the pieces, the vision would never look the same.

Who lied to their only child? Their sole companion in slavery?

Beneath a veil of black metal, a tear stung Vader's eye. Half of him wanted to believe her motivations must have been noble. The other half felt like it was re-engulfed in Mustafar's flames.

Half of him wanted answers, and half didn't. Ainar could die today and summarily end this dilemma. Vader was acutely aware of that option. But even the second-most powerful Sith lord in the galaxy didn't feel qualified to judge whether less information was preferable to more in this context. But the real question was what he, Darth Vader, stood to benefit from revisiting that detention cell.

The answer: absolutely nothing.

Blame it on five years of carrying an increasingly calloused heart, but that's how Vader felt. No doubt he'd feel differently if it were Anakin mulling this over. Anakin, the good son. The one Ainar expected to find. Not this monstrous caricature of evil that had blithely sentenced him to death.

Almost. _Almost_ sentenced him. He'd as good as retracted that now, though Ainar wasn't yet aware. Vader should probably deliver the news in person and relieve the man's anxiety. And then what? Deactivate the force field, turn on his heel, and leave his baffled father to spend the rest of his years searching in vain?

That had to be more humane than the alternative. Ainar would never know the horror he'd been spared, but Vader would. He could imagine no worthier sacrifice.

There. The matter was clear-cut and settled. Vader wished the same could be said for the photograph. Weighing the impact of keeping it, he let the image envelop him once more. Through the dense layers of his suit, the warmth of her embrace soothed him. Blessed moments of relief like this were so rare…

_Anakin._

Her voice resonated like an angel's. Vader offered no resistance, letting her presence materialize in his soul.

_You are troubled, my son. Be at peace._

Vader shivered, overcome. He spoke into the hollow room. "How are you speaking to me?"

_Through love. The Force is not all that threads the universe._

"Why did you wait?' he sobbed. "All this time… I needed you!"

_You needed something I alone could not give – something you're about to throw away._

"Please, mother, don't talk in riddles!"

_You know to what I refer._

He felt his heart spasm.

_Do not spurn what fate has generously given you._

"What good can come of it? He'll reject me!"

_I know what you are, yet I choose not to reject you._

Vader found it difficult to draw a full breath. "A kindness I do not deserve."

_Yet it is mine to give. And I know he will give the same._

A full minute lapsed while Vader fought to restrain his emotions.

"You speak as someone who knew him well."

_I did. I still do._

"What was he to you?"

_My soul's companion. My hope in darkest despair. A gift more precious than my own life._

"You mean..."

_He was my spouse of five years, Anakin._

That was the bullet that shot straight through her portrait in Vader's heart. And from her own mouth, no less.

"Why… why did you lie to me?" he gasped.

_I never lied to you, dearest son._

"I don't understand!"

_Seek him, and you will._

Vader lowered his head into his gloved hands, wheezing in defeat.

"I cannot!"

_It is your choice. But know this: if you turn your back on him… you do the same to me._

"NO!" he sprang up, as if standing would keep her from retreating. She was fading from his senses all too soon.

_He and I are of the same soul, Anakin. We cannot be cleaved in half._

Her voice grew more distant, pulling away.

"No, don't leave!" he shouted feverishly. "Mom, _please!_"

_In death, I at last found restoration. May you also find it by dying to yourself… just this once…_

When the last word echoed into oblivion, Vader found himself kneeling on the marble floor, too distraught to summon tears.

This day would surely be his undoing. Not since Padmé's death had his nervous system threatened to overload as it did now. Discovering his father, communing with his deceased mother, and being told the only way to reconcile these two impossible events was to perform a third.

Replaying her words only added to his confusion. She'd called him Anakin. Despite knowing who & what he was, she'd deliberately chosen not to call him Vader.

"Vader?"

_If she knows as much as she claims, then she should know it's too late for me. It's hopeless…_

"Vader!"

_But her ultimatum… I couldn't live without ever hearing her voice again…_

"VADER! Are you even in that suit, or did you shed it and crawl under a rock somewhere?"

Jolting out of his thoughts, Vader wheeled toward the sound. There on his desktop comlink stood a miniature version of a very irritated-looking Xizor.

"Sorry to interrupt your Sith séance, but it's time to come back to the living. We had an appointment at 1300 hours, if you'll recall."

Vader's mind reeled as he looked to the nearest chrono display. It was a quarter past 1300. Ironically enough, it was all too easy to lose track of time when pondering one's past, present, and future.

"I'll be there in five minutes," Vader grunted as he rose to his feet. His joints ached as much as his head, but he couldn't let Xizor sense these weaknesses. It would take all his mental and physical energy to obscure his present suffering from the Prince.

Xizor folded his arms. "That's all? No apology?"

"Don't push your luck, Xizor," Vader warned.

"The Emperor and I have been doing a lot of waiting these days, thanks to you."

_And I keep getting contacted at the most ungainly moments, thanks to the two of you_, Vader gritted his teeth. "Faulty chronos have been known to lose minutes, _Prince_."

"Then I'd invest in a finer model if I were you," Xizor said smoothly. "Surely you can afford one."

"With all these banal meetings and hoop-jumping, I haven't time for shopping. Perhaps you'd be kind enough to pick one up for me on your next spendthrift excursion."

Xizor never looked more reptilian than when he smiled. "If you get your asthmatic body to my palace before I need a nap, I'll consider doing that favor."

The comlink connection sputtered away before Vader could retort. _Enjoy having the last word while you can, Xizor. Soon, I predict, the Emperor will tire of you, and when that day comes_…

Sadly, today was not that day. Today should have been something akin to a personal day, or as close to one as a Sith career afforded. Time off, paid or unpaid, was an elusive concept for those in Palpatine's service. Like it or not, Vader had signed off on the employee handbook five years ago… and he'd signed it with his blood and Padmé's.

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"And this is the projected interest on the loan over the next fifteen years," Xizor pointed to a figure on his datapad. "We could, of course, abbreviate it by paying extra toward the principal."

Vader nodded, wanting to be anywhere but in the middle of a one-on-one financial brainstorming session with his nemesis. Correction – not just anywhere. The detention center was only one block from Xizor's palace…

"…have any capital to accelerate repayment?"

Having only caught the latter half of Xizor's question, Vader tried to maintain his poise.

"You'll need to repeat that."

Pursing his lips sourly, Xizor shifted his body language, clearly fed up.

"Twice now you've drifted off! Something on your mind?"

"My only distraction is your odor," Vader purred maliciously. "Aren't Falleen known for their sweet-smelling pheromones? Your diet may need adjusting."

Xizor sneered. "The target audience is female and, preferably, able to smell with their own nostrils."

"With a face like yours, I'd be surprised if you attracted any females _with_ nostrils."

"My my, you _are_ strong in the Force. You just predicted my next insult, word for word."

Vader felt his gloves go taut across his knuckles as he clenched them. _If I killed him now, would anyone notice? Palpatine might, but I'm one insult away from not caring_. Insults and Vader rarely mixed well, and jokes whose punch line involved females were least appreciated.

"This bickering gets us nowhere with the budget," Vader squeezed his anger out with each breath.

"Finally, we're on the same page," Xizor commended with subtle contempt.

"Skip the minutiae and get to bottom line. What do you need to hear?"

The prince met Vader's black eyes dead on. "That you're willing to make certain sacrifices for the sake of the Empire, just as I am."

"What sort of sacrifices?"

"Financial ones," Xizor paused. "You own multiple pieces of real estate, do you not?"

"A few," Vader narrowed his eyes, though the Falleen couldn't see it. "I'm sure they amount to pocket change compared to your vast holdings."

"Don't be so modest, Vader. That lakeside retreat of yours in the Manarai Mountains would fetch quite a nice sum."

"So what if it would?"

Tapping the datapad, Xizor cocked his head. "The Emperor is counting on us help defray the Death Star's cost. I've already liquidated several of my assets. The question is, what are _you_ willing to do for the cause?"

This didn't seem right. Vader smelled a conniving – albeit clever – rat.

"Palpatine knows the depth of my loyalty, Xizor. If _he_ were to ask me to relinquish my possessions, I would do so without a moment's hesitation."

The prince caught Vader's meaning and smirked. "Good. You may be called upon soon."

"Noted," Vader twisted his neck with spite. "Are we finished?"

"For today."

Vader was out of the room in four strides, too aggravated to care that Xizor's eyes bore into his back.

_Your loyalty had better run deeper than the Great Western Sea, Vader. Because if it doesn't, I vow to be the first to know – and the first to tell Palpatine_.

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Mid-afternoon sun baked the concrete of the detention center's front façade, making it blindingly bright. Yet Vader stood fifty yards from its doors, staring at it without blinking. He didn't care if his eyes watered. He didn't care how many times the two guards at the entrance exchanged uneasy glances. He'd stand there as long as it took to gather the courage to make his prosthetic legs move.

"_If you turn your back on him… you do the same to me."_

"_He and I are of the same soul, Anakin. We cannot be cleaved in half."_

Was that the only way this could happen? Through emotional extortion? What a sad testament to the inner workings of his heart these days. Not that he, or anyone else, was surprised by it.

Ainar, however, would be surprised to see him again. At least, he would be once Vader curtailed his heart attack and explained his true reasons for returning.

If there was a Book of Galactic Records published annually, this would definitely win "Most Awkward Father-Son Reunion." Suddenly Vader wasn't sure if staying under Xizor's roof for the afternoon was half bad…

_One foot in front of the other. Do it for Mom. She needs it as much as I do._

And he did need it. He needed answers. Ignorance was not befitting a man of his stature. That stature was likely to be brought low in a few short minutes, but regardless…

The Force itself seemed to levitate him into the building, over the terrace and through the corridors, past anxious stormtroopers whose greetings were muted. They were like wraiths to him, lacking the substance that, as far as he as concerned, only one currently possessed.

Vader found him almost exactly where he'd left him – crumpled on the cell floor, lost in unfathomable thoughts. His eyes were shut, but he was unmistakably awake. This was proven when they opened within seconds of Vader's shadow falling over them.

"They say first impressions aren't always accurate. If you'd allow me to start over, I'd be most grateful."

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	9. Ch 9: Getting to Know You

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**Chapter 9 – Getting to Know You**

Not even a lightsaber could slice through the tension between Ainar and the man he considered the angel of death.

Had three days in this cell made Ainar delusional? Was his imminent demise making him hear things? After several hours of abject, isolated misery, his mind was more than capable of contriving this scene. Who wouldn't dream of having one's tormentor undergo a sudden change of heart and deliver polite speech instead of violent oaths?

"Well? How about it?" Vader shifted impatiently.

All of Ainar's muscles were paralyzed except his tongue. "You want to… start over?"

"Yes, if it's not too much to ask."

Ainar feared that if he looked away for one split second, the scene would crumble and he'd find himself alone again, ticking off the morbid hours one by one.

"All right," he said guardedly. "But why?"

The most breathtaking truths in life were often revealed through the simplest of gestures. A kiss, a smile, a touch… or in this case, a picture. Vader's arm quivered imperceptibly as he lifted Shmi's photograph for Ainar to see.

"Because of this."

Ainar leapt to his feet, drawn as if by a magnet. "May I have that back? Please, just one small comfort before my death?"

"No."

Ainar's eyes went flat.

"You will not need it for comfort. Your execution has been cancelled."

"What…?"

"It will be many years before you join your wife in death."

Somehow Ainar spoke through his shock. "How did you know she was my wife? And that she was dead?"

Vader's heart began to gallop. "Your devotion burns as strongly now as it did years ago, when you last saw her. So too has mine burned since holding her in my arms as she died."

The raw matter of the universe began shifting inside Ainar. In the depths of his soul, atoms burst and realigned in patterns that defied shape and form. He could almost feel the fibers of his heart snapping and stretching, undulating as they sought a new home. A home that could only be found in the black-clad chest standing before Ainar.

The revelation knocked all air from his lungs – all but enough to utter three syllables.

"_Anakin?_"

"There was a time, long ago, when I answered to that name."

Mouth agape, Ainar stared in horrified wonder at his son. "What do you go by now?"

"Darth Vader."

Blood drained from Ainar's neck and face. _Darth Vader_. The name known and feared by masses from one end of the galaxy to the other. Had Han been present during Vader's first visit, Ainar might have learned that detail earlier, giving him time to process it separately from this psychological onslaught. Then again, did it really matter? Would a few extra hours have made it more palatable? Would he feel any less nauseated?

"You're not what I expected," Ainar said, short of breath.

"Neither are you," replied Vader. "I should have no father, yet there you stand."

"Holy humping banthas! You two are _RELATED?!_"

In the midst of their drama, neither had taken notice of Han Solo, who'd waken from a nap just thirty seconds ago.

"Wow old man, I knew you were hidin' some mighty big secrets, but _this?!_" Han's eyeballs protruded from his head.

"Guards!" Vader shouted down the hall. Two came running with blasters drawn, slowing as they reached a displeased Vader. "Dispatch this impudent brat!"

"In what manner, sir?"

"Standard execution!"

Han waved his hands frantically as the troopers apprehended him. "Whoa! It's not my fault I heard all that! Take it easy!"

"Take him out front and make an example of him," Vader instructed coldly.

"Come on, you can trust me! I won't tell no one that he's your–"

Quicker than Sith lightning, Vader's grip was crushing Han's throat.

"One more word and you'll cause the death of both these troopers, along with yourself," hissed Vader. "Do you really want to be responsible for that?"

Han shook his head, thrashing in desperation.

"I didn't think so. When I release you, you will remain silent. Understood?"

Han nodded in extreme earnest.

"Take him away!"

Gulping for air, Han sent pleading looks Ainar's way as he was dragged toward the exit. Without so much as a second glance at the boy, Vader turned to resume their discussion.

"Where were we?"

Ainar was too stricken to avert his gaze from Han. "You decide to spare my life, but not his?"

"He knows too much."

"He's just a boy! And if you were so concerned about eavesdropping, you should have cleared the area when you arrived."

_Insolence! Nobody dispenses corrective criticism to Darth Vader, not even –_

"If anything, you could just kill me and remove the liability altogether," Ainar added drily.

"I'm not sure if speaking to me in this manner is in your best interest."

"And _I'm_ not sure if you can see clearly through that helmet! I am no more human than Han, and he no less than me."

"Species is not relevant to this issue."

"No, but our tentative relationship is. Let him die, and it ends before it ever began."

Nothing but the sound of Vader's breathing was audible for several seconds.

"I know how debasing it was for you to ask me for a clean slate. Don't waste it," Ainar's tone softened somewhat.

_Easier said than done_, Vader fumed. The man wasn't asking much – just that Vader scuttle his reputation and leave a loud-mouthed problem child walking around. No huge favor at all. Yet still Vader paused to consider the merits of granting this favor, and that meant something.

It meant that if it were any other being asking this of him, he'd reject the idea faster than he'd silence the fool with his lightsaber.

Ainar had to know that. Their relationship, as he rightly observed, had yet to officially begin, yet already he was establishing a family dynamic. _Well. Now I know where my tenacious nature comes from, _Vader acknowledged begrudgingly. His pride was inborn as well, and no one except the Emperor had ever succeeded in breaking it. What would defying that precedent do?

"_If you turn your back on him… you do the same to me."_

The decision was suddenly glaringly obvious. Nothing good had ever come from Vader choosing pride over family.

"GUARDS!"

Fortunately his booming voice reached the far end of the corridor just as Han was halfway through the door.

"Bring him back!"

Upon returning, the trio consisted of two very confused stormtroopers and an elated Han.

"I knew you'd pull through for me, old buddy!" he gushed at Ainar. "I owe ya big time!"

"Transfer this prisoner to cell block 7-B," ordered Vader.

"But sir, cell block 7-B has been experiencing–"

"Environmental control malfunctions, yes I know. It will only be temporary while I converse with Ainar."

"Very well sir. But if the prisoner dies from frostbite, we can't be held accountable."

"Frostbite?" Han squirmed as he was hauled away in a different direction. "Uh, is it too late to change my mind an' go outside instead? Sun's nice an' warm this time of day…"

Sighing, Vader consciously blocked Han's blathering out and faced Ainar with arms crossed.

"Satisfied?"

Ainar didn't have a ready answer for that. Knowing Han would live to see another day was gratifying, but his life should have never been endangered to begin with… and Ainar shouldn't have been forced to wager his most valuable asset, which Vader nearly forfeited.

Trying to peer through Vader's mask, Ainar's face was a potent mix of emotions.

"What _happened_ to you, son?" he inhaled painfully. "The woman I knew would have never raised…"

… a murderer.

… a tyrant.

… _you._

The man's thoughts were unguarded, and they finished what his mouth could not.

"The woman _I_ knew was not one to deceive or withhold information," Vader countered. "There are many myths surrounding her as well as each other, it seems."

Ainar nodded solemnly. "I want to help unravel those myths. As long as you promise to reciprocate."

Vader stiffened. If he felt balanced on the precipice of rejection now, exposing all his demons – mental and physical – would surely tip the scales.

"We shall see," he hedged. "If your story rings legitimate, we shall see."

That was, Ainar knew, the best offer he'd receive at this point. "If we're going to do this, at least drop the force field and sit with me."

_A fair request, as long as no one observes us_, reasoned Vader. When he instructed the guards not to enter cell block 7-A until further notice, they assumed a vicious torture session was the reason. They wouldn't have believed the truth if Vader himself told them.

A wall far more impenetrable than any force field fell when Vader stepped into Ainar's cell. Sitting far enough apart to feel secure, yet close enough to simulate trust, father and son braced themselves for the extraordinary.

"Where should I begin?" Ainar asked.

"At the beginning."

He'd rehearsed this script a million times if he had once. He'd perfected it into a work of art, weaving poetry and prose to tell the narrative. Yet it all seemed so inadequate now.

"Shmi and I met as teens in Basic Skills class. It wasn't half the education non-slaves received, but it was all we had."

"You were… both slaves?"

"Yes, from birth. We grew up in the same district on Zygerria, serving wealthy, benevolent masters. We were among the lucky few. Shock whips never touched our bodies…"

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In a flash, Vader found himself hovering over a sepia-tinted Zygerria thirty years prior. His view tightened to street level, where the bustle of slave traders and swindlers teemed. The sharp, feline features of the native Zygerrians distinguished them easily from the lower masses; their richly tailored robes and shock whips coiled on their hips also set them apart.

Through the crowded avenues he wandered until reaching a small, dingy storefront with weeds spilling from every crack. Strips of awning fabric fluttered forlornly above the door, which sagged to one side. A small but legible note was tacked to the peeling doorframe: _"Basic Skills class, final session."_

The heat inside was suffocating. A fan squeaked a pitiful breeze over several rows of students. Half of them were melting over their desks, too limp and listless to pay attention. Some, however, were managing to keep from wilting.

The two least affected by the heat were sitting in back, closest to the fan. But it wasn't just the churning air keeping them alert – gazing into each other's eyes was doing a fine job of that.

"Congratulations on completing the Basic Skills course for Slaves and Indentured Servants," the perspiring instructor said wearily. Her dowdy appearance marked her as a low-paid government worker. "These certificates will increase your value to present and future owners. When I call your name, please come forward to collect yours."

A litany of twenty names followed, ending with those Vader had been waiting to hear.

"Shmi Mirrene."

"Ainar Skywalker."

Bounding from their seats, they practically skipped to the front of the room, grinning as they claimed flimsy pieces of paper that clearly meant the world to them. Hand in hand, they hurried past vacant desks and stepped into the warm sunshine beyond. Both were beaming as they stood on the pitted concrete stoop.

"It's finally over!" Shmi exclaimed gleefully, squeezing Ainar's waist.

"That was a long ten months," he sighed.

"But meeting you made it fly by."

Ainar smiled fondly into her hazel eyes. "You're right, it did."

"And now…"

He knew what the twinkle in her eye meant. "Now, the rest of our dreams can come true."

"Does your family know?" Shmi twirled her long, thick braid nervously. "And your owners?"

"Everything's been arranged. You'll join our household after the wedding."

"That couldn't have been easy to negotiate."

"Our owners are reasonable people, Shmi. It wasn't so hard as you think," Ainar assured. "My mother's eyesight is starting to fail, and we need someone with fine motor skills to assist her with chores."

"Oh, so it's a marriage of convenience?" she swatted him playfully.

"Hardly," he nuzzled her neck. "That's just the icing on the cake."

Blushing, Shmi laughed breathlessly. "Control yourself for just two more days, will you?"

"Mm, I'll try."

Dreamily lifting her gaze to the cloudless sky, Shmi reveled in the pure, unspoiled elation of this moment.

"Life is so amazing, Ainar. We may be slaves, but we have more than most people find in a lifetime of wealth and riches."

"And it's only going to get better with time," he murmured in her ear. "I can't wait to have children with you."

Shmi shook her head in wondering disbelief. "I doubt there's another 18-year-old male in the galaxy who'd say such a thing."

"You'll find I'm nothing if not exceptional," he kissed her full on the lips.

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Five years unfurled before Vader's eyes. Half a decade of domestic bliss, and not a day of it was taken for granted by either spouse. Shmi and Ainar's life was as close to a fairytale as any two slaves could achieve. Even-tempered masters, pleasant working conditions, and most of all, love.

Love that transcended their common status, or even the spark that jumped from his pale blue eyes to hers throughout the day. Something bigger than their hearts and souls bound them. At night, Shmi would lie awake staring at the stars, musing that the force holding them in place was the same one binding her to Ainar.

She wondered, too, if perhaps they were bonded too closely to leave room for a third. After two years passed without her belly swelling with a child, she and Ainar admitted they may have overestimated fate's generosity. Though disappointed, they refused to let this detract from their many other blessings. They were content and comfortable, and would remain so for years to come.

Or so they thought.

On the eve of their fifth anniversary, they realized they'd once again miscalculated fate.

Shmi was filling a canvas bag with vegetables from street produce vendors when the first explosion hit. It spilled as she turned to see three massive transport ships dropping energy bombs on her home district.

Had the produce vendors near their home not been closed due to a crop shortage, she and Ainar would have been vaporized just now. The sickening sound of bomb volleys rang in their ears as they joined swarms of citizens scurrying for shelter. The screams filling Zygerria's streets were a rare chorus of free and enslaved alike.

Crouched breathlessly in each other's arms, Shmi and Ainar braced for the worst, but it never came. The aerial assault skirted their location from beginning to terrible end. When the carnage was over, the dust settled on a district now wholly unrecognizable, even to its longest residents.

Not that many remained. The young Skywalker couple's masters had only a smoldering crater as their burial ground.

The Zygerrian government wasted little time in assembling the slaves rendered homeless by the incident. Nor did much time pass before the perpetrators of the act were identified: a small, radical anti-slavery faction demonstrating their distaste for Zygerrian law. Apparently, their zeal blinded them to the fact that slaves and owners and alike would perish, and that untold numbers would simply be sold into other sectors.

Which is exactly what happened to Shmi and Ainar. Gone overnight was their idyllic existence. Gone was the notion that all sectors valued – or even recognized – marriages between slaves. Heartlessly torn from each other in a public auction, tears poured down their faces as their new masters threatened to fling shock whips at them if they didn't cooperate.

Misery knew no other definition. For three months they endured separation and cruel treatment besides. Until somehow, one day, they forged the lines of communication and plotted their escape.

It was time. This world wasn't made for them. Their love belonged elsewhere.

The operation was no amateur undertaking. Favors from old friends – those still alive – were called upon, and each step was engineered with fearless precision. Under the cover of blackest night, they'd crept into an abandoned warehouse and lowered a stolen cockpit over their heads.

"I love you," Ainar whispered, the green glow of the controls illuminating his chin.

Shmi gripped his hand fiercely in response.

Guided by the limited galactic charting taught in Basic Skills class, they headed toward the nearest system. Not once did they look back as they disappeared into the stars.

It took just ten minutes for Ainar to realize something was amiss.

Shmi saw the frown creasing his forehead. "What is it?"

"We're supposed to be headed northeast, toward Mandalore," he punched several buttons. "But we're going in the opposite direction!"

"That can't be right," she leaned over, trying to decipher the readings.

"The navigation's locked! I can't change our course!"

"Where will we end up instead?"

"I don't know," Ainar clenched his jaw. "But if I ever meet the scumbag who got us this ship…"

"Can we still _land?_"

"I think so… but we have to find a _planet_ first!"

For hours, none appeared. Yet just when they believed they'd die in this bottomless pocket of space, something emerged in the distance…

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Abruptly, Vader's vision ended.

"You have shown me only half the story!" he growled at Ainar.

"The rest will come. But first, turn that picture over."

Preoccupied as he'd been all day, Vader hadn't once thought to turn it over. As he did so now, the face under his mask looked as if it had seen a ghost.

"It can't be!" he inspected it more closely. "Mortis…"

Ainar tried to subdue his surprise. "You know of it… _and_ its name?"

"I know everything about that world," Vader said under his breath.

"No… you won't know everything until my tale is done."

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_I know Anakin's memory of Mortis was supposed to have been erased after his mission there, but for the sake of this story, let's pretend he remembers parts of it.  
Not much thought went into choosing Shmi's maiden name. You can love it or hate it. _

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	10. Ch 10: Odyssey

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**Chapter 10 – Odyssey **

_**Mature Theme Advisory  
**_**Not enough to warrant an overall M rating for the story, but some readers may be troubled by the latter part of this chapter. Others may find this warning silly, but I'd rather be cautious/sensitive now than apologetic later.  
**  
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"_It can't be!" he inspected it more closely. "Mortis…"_

_Ainar tried to subdue his surprise. "You know of it… and its name?"_

"_I know everything about that world," Vader said under his breath._

"_No. You won't know everything until my tale is done." _

And so it continued, hurtling toward its end… with Shmi and Ainar hurtling toward a giant diamond in the middle of wild space.

"That's not a planet," Shmi anxiously insisted.

Ainar tried scanning the object, to no avail. "Not like any we've heard of. But it's all we've come across in five hours."

"We're not actually going to _land_ on it?!"

"We have no choice… we're in a deadlock, and the engines won't decelerate!"

"Ainar, we'll crash right into it! There's nowhere–"

Her hysteria was cut short when a sliver of light pierced the object from top to bottom, slowly expanding like a giant gate. The travelers watched, riveted, as they were drawn into the maw, passing through the outer shell into blinding brilliance. Luminous radiance filled the cabin and all without was pure light, free of matter and form.

Was this the opposite of a black hole? A portal to heaven? Were they still alive? They couldn't be sure if they heard their own breaths anymore…

Then, as if passing through a cloud, they saw something materialize. It was land. Fertile, inviting land no less, with meandering streams and verdant waves of flora. Flocks of brightly-winged birds soared below, escorting the ship to its proper landing site.

When they reached the edge of that territory and began descending into the one beyond, Shmi and Ainar exchanged taut looks of anticipation. This region, though not entirely inhospitable, was decidedly less welcoming than the first. A few scrub bushes and short trees dotted the mountainous landscape, which had an obvious focal point: a tiered citadel atop the highest peak. At its apex hovered a slowly spinning crystal that appeared dormant.

At the base of that formation, their ship finally came to rest.

It was several minutes after the engines died before either dared to speak.

"Are we really on solid ground?"

"It feels like it."

"What was that wall of brightness we passed through?"

"Whatever it was, it made the controls spin like toys."

"Should we get out? Do you think it's safe?"

"My back and legs are killing me, so it's now or never."

Stepping gingerly onto rocky soil, Ainar stretched his limbs while Shmi took in the panorama. Nothing but desolate, dreary slopes as far as the eye could see. No birds graced the skies, and no fauna roamed the barren earth.

An unbidden shiver caused her arms to wrap around each other. "I wish we'd landed in that other area. This place feels so cold."

"At least there's some intelligent life here."

"You mean _that?_" Shmi pointed at the dizzying tower, which showed no signs of life. "It's hard to tell if anyone inhabits it."

"Someone does."

The voice made them both jump ten feet in the air.

It came from behind, spoken by a figure that most certainly had not been there five seconds ago. Ainar instinctively tucked Shmi behind himself, assessing the angular features and long white beard of their visitor. The ancient-looking man in gray robes seemed harmless, yet his abrupt appearance warranted caution.

Although, even if they'd seen him coming a mile away, his eight-foot height would have still triggered alarm.

"Who are you?" Ainar demanded warily.

"I believe I am entitled to ask that question first. You are, after all, standing at the entrance of my monastery."

Having no evidence to the contrary, Ainar obliged. "I'm Ainar Skywalker. This is my wife Shmi."

"Welcome," the man bowed. "I am Father."

_What kind of a name is that?_ Ainar made a face. "Pleased to… meet you."

"And you as well. Tell me, where do you come from?"

Ainar glanced at Shmi. There was no way they'd risk getting sent back to Zygerria.

"Mandalore," Ainar lied.

"A far distance to travel. How is it you found this place?"

"Completely by accident."

Father entwined his long fingers thoughtfully. "Accidents are an illusion."

"Well, _I_ didn't program my ship to fly here!" huffed Ainar. "The wires were either sabotaged or corroded."

"A myopic range of theories."

"You have a better explanation?" he said indignantly.

Looking down his sharply pointed nose, Father gave a faintly patronizing smile. "Perhaps."

Without warning, the crystal above the monastery quickened its rotation, sending pulses of light in every direction. Father raised his arms and cast an eerie voice into the wilderness.

"Come, my children! Leave your bastions of solitude and join me!"

Shmi clung to her husband as distant thunder pealed. She and Ainar scanned the horizon, waiting with bated breath for Father's "children" to appear. The crystal overhead now spun too fast for their human eyes to see.

The thunder was drawing closer, ricocheting off canyons and shaking the earth itself. Landslides rained down several mountain faces. Ainar's brain screamed at him to throw Shmi back in the ship and flee, but he sensed that whatever was coming would stop them in midair.

He sensed correctly.

Two enormous winged creatures crested the hills from opposite directions.

From the East came a regal, green-bearded griffin with feathers whiter than snow.

It was a collision course with a razor-toothed vampire bat straight from the bowels of hell.

The air shook with a deafening rumble as the two alighted next to Father. Shmi was on the verge of screaming when both became bathed in transfiguring light. Seconds later, two humanoids replaced the beasts.

Where the griffin landed now stood woman of singular beauty, her thick flowing tresses matching the shade of green on the creature's beard. Grace and purity embodied her as much as wickedness and malevolence embodied her brother. He retained the solid red eyes of his gargoyle self, which poured their color down each pallid cheek. Covered in coarse black attire from head to foot, he stood with feet widely planted, sending withering glares at his sister and father.

"Why have you summoned us, Father?" evil reverberated in his voice.

"As you can see, we have visitors," Father swept an elegant arm toward Ainar and Shmi.

Son scowled at them. "What are _mortals_ doing here?"

"You did not lure them?"

"No. I wouldn't squander my energy on the likes of them."

Father turned to his other child. "Then it must have been you, Daughter."

"No, Father," the fair-skinned goddess sang. "I did not call these two humans."

Frowning, the elderly patriarch began pacing before the Skywalkers. "How can this be? None of us are responsible?"

"I couldn't care less," snarled Son. "Just get them out of my sight already!"

"Not so impetuous, Son. This is a great mystery to be explored."

Daughter took a curious step forward. "Could one of them be…?"

"What, the _Chosen One?_" Son rolled his blood-red eyes. "How can you still be so foolish as to believe that fable, sister?"

"It is not a fable," Father's voice boomed with authority.

"It's childish fantasy and nothing more," Son crossed his arms.

"It is _truth_ and _destiny!_ Keep your heretical thoughts to yourself!"

"Or what? You'll banish me?" Son taunted, wagging his head. "You've already done that, remember? This pretty little world of ours is my eternal prison!"

"Now is not the time for these grievances," Father sighed heavily and turned to Ainar and Shmi. "Please excuse him. Son cannot help but be contrary and divisive."

Daughter nodded. "It is his indelible nature, just as light and virtue are mine."

Ainar shared an uneasy look with his wife. "We're sorry for any trouble we've caused. We'll gladly leave if you can direct us out of here."

"But you've only just arrived," Father remarked. "Patience, friends. In time, I believe your reasons for being stranded here will manifest."

"_Stranded?_" Ainar raised an eyebrow. "Other than the navigation, our ship is functional!"

"Is it?" challenged Son.

Agitated, Ainar strode to the ship and leaned in to strike the ignition button. Nothing happened. Fear washed over him as he repeated the action several times with similar results.

"This can't be… it was working fine when we landed ten minutes ago!"

Shmi turned a scornful eye to Son. "What did you do to it?"

He sneered derisively. "Don't flatter yourself. I don't want you here a second longer than necessary."

"Most intriguing," Father's turquoise eyes clouded over in rumination. "The Force must have indeed pulled them here. All doubt is now dispelled."

"What's the _Force?_" Ainar suspiciously asked.

"That which we are, and breathe," Daughter swayed, dancing to unheard music. "It is within and beyond us at all times, controlling us even as we wield it."

"Say no more, sister!" Son shouted. "They deserve to know nothing! Not even the name of this world, for that is only for the Chosen One's ears. _Right,_ Father?"

The old man lowered his brow. "You know much for someone who decries that _fable_."

"But it's true, isn't it?"

"Yes. That privilege is for the Chosen One alone."

Shmi glanced rapidly between the three beings. "So what does that mean for us? Are we even allowed to live?"

"Of course you are. You shall live comfortably at the junction of our three lands," Father decreed. "It is a neutral zone where no single power holds sway. Neither of my children will interfere with your life there." The unyielding gaze he aimed at Son and Daughter precluded argument.

The two humans locked eyes and knew each other's sentiments instantly. This wasn't Mandalore or any other commercialized planet. It was a far cry from what they'd envisioned as a second home. Yet that was precisely why its advantages were manifold. The natives were bizarre and contentious, but their quarrel was inbred, and they cared not whether their guests were former slaves or the king and queen of Alderaan. Politics and feudalistic power meant nothing here.

Ainar and Shmi might be stranded the strangest planet in the galaxy, but they couldn't have chosen a safer one if they tried. Anywhere else, there'd always be the lingering danger of someone extricating them back to Zygerria – where the punishment awaiting them would far outweigh the strange living conditions here.

All things considered, this place was the unlikely yet unequivocal choice. Maybe there was something credible about this _Force_ after all.

"Thank you," Ainar responded. "We appreciate your hospitality."

"Which direction is home?" Shmi shielded her eyes, scanning the horizon.

Father pointed to the southwest. "Come, I will take you there. Nightfall is almost upon us."

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The humble yet cozy dwelling nestled in a rich, dark-leafed forest was more than adequate for Ainar and Shmi. Its stone walls and stout chimney kept them warm and dry from month to month, not that there was much variation in seasons. They'd been pleasantly surprised to learn that the region's temperance included its climate.

How many acres they were free to roam, neither knew the exact figure. But they knew the boundaries well enough. A crystalline river marked the line to the east. To the south and west, they were not to cross the forest's edge. And the great mountains of the north made the most obvious border of all.

Within these confines were miles upon miles of tranquil land, full of abundant food and wonders to explore. Animals were never in short supply or difficult to hunt. Rain fell at regular intervals to irrigate their gardens, which yielded ample crops throughout the year. The sun rose, shone, and set each day on paradise – or as close to it as any two slave-born individuals could hope to find.

For nearly a full year, they saw not Father, Son, or Daughter. The trio had kept their promise and it seemed they always would. Still, just as they did on clear Zygerrian nights, Shmi and Ainar would behold the night sky and wonder if they'd ever see gargoyle or griffin soar across it again.

The answer came in the least expected way.

It was on an autumnal night that Ainar, lying next to his wife in the cool grass, did a double-take at what was usually her flat abdomen. He thought the dim twilight was tricking his eyes. Wordlessly, he reached over to rest a trembling hand on the mound.

His heart nearly stopped when he felt something kick from inside.

For over a minute, only the lazy chirping of crickets filled the glade in which this miracle was discovered.

"Shmi…?" his voice cracked.

He couldn't take his eyes off her belly to see her grinning. "I was wondering when you'd notice."

"How…"

"It's this place… I'm sure of it," she sighed with deep satisfaction. "There's something magical about it."

"I'll say," he whispered, rubbing the marvelous swell of her stomach. The baby's movements followed him from one side to the other.

Shmi leaned over to kiss him. "Just a few more months and we'll be a family."

Returning her kiss, Ainar soon found himself wearing the same ecstatic grin as she. Then, unbidden laughter erupted from his throat, quickly escalating from a deep chuckle to joyous hysteria. He twirled Shmi under the velvet canopy and rejoiced for all creation to hear.

"The Force be praised! Our love is at last fruitful! A child, with no two parents who could love it more!"

Shmi giggled breathlessly in his arms. "Are you ready?"

"Darling wife, I've been ready since the day I met you!"

"For raising a child, sure," her smile stayed intact. "But what about playing midwife?"

Ainar was too light-headed from his excitement to respond right away. Before he could catch his breath and respond affirmatively, another voice answered for him.

"No midwife will be necessary," hissed a tone as black as the surrounding night.

Out of the inkiest shadows stepped Son, red eyes blazing as he approached the paralyzed couple.

"Let me save you the trouble, Ainar. The child dies tonight."

"Get away from us!" Ainar crouched defensively.

"You're not supposed to be here!" screamed Shmi.

"And _you're_ not supposed to conceive anything here!" convicted Son. "It is forbidden! An abomination as insufferable as bathing in the Pool of Knowledge or drinking from the Font of Power!"

"We don't even know what those are!" Shmi screeched. "And we were never warned against conceiving!"

"Ignorance of the law is a poor excuse," Son shook his head, sauntering closer. "You should've at least had the sense not to project the news loudly enough for me to hear. _That_ was foolish."

"Where are the others?" Ainar gritted his teeth, trying vainly to keep Shmi out of Son's sight.

Son's smile glowed evilly in the gloom. "Their hearing isn't half as good as mine."

"No…" Shmi shuffled backward desperately. "_Please_, no!"

"Mm, I promise it will be relatively painless – for you, anyway. Just one touch of my hand and the life will shrivel and decay into nothing. Then you can be on your merry way… go home and bake a pie, if you wish," he chuckled darkly.

"You monster!" Ainar spat. "If your father or sister only knew–"

"That's the _point_. They won't. The two of you will remain alive. That's all Father and precious _Daughter_ need to sense."

Shmi's pulse was deafening in her ears. "Please… I'll do anything!"

"All you need to _do_ is hold very, very still."

Son was within two yards of her now, gnarled hand outstretched like the fatal weapon it was. There was no escape. Running was futile. There wasn't an inch of land he didn't know or couldn't find them.

Clenching her eyes shut, Shmi sobbed at full volume, squeezing Ainar's hand more tightly than if she'd been in labor. Labor they'd never get to experience together.

But then, by the same Force that had brought them to this point in time and space, another miracle occurred.

Both Shmi and Ainar's eyes were shut when a sonic blast sent Son careening to the far side of the field. When they opened them, two towering figures stood opposite the skid mark left by their wayward relative.

"By what authority have you come here?!" roared Father, eyes frighteningly illuminated.

Son spat dirt from his mouth. "By the Force itself! You of all beings should know!"

"What crime have these two committed that you should invade their land?"

"See for yourself!" Son pointed a condemning finger at Shmi's stomach.

No emotion registered on Father's face as he stared. "I see. A gift that has eluded you for some time, correct?"

"Y-yes," Shmi buried her face in Ainar's chest, too terrified to look on anymore.

"The Force continues to orchestrate your lives," Father nodded sagely.

"_That's_ all you have to say?!" Son yelled in fury. "They have committed an unforgivable act! You banished Mother for drinking from the Font of Power and bathing in the Pool of Knowledge, yet you will do nothing to punish these two?"

"I have not made my edict yet. I must first deliberate."

"There is no deliberation! The consequences are simple!"

"I can see how for you they would seem to be."

"Father, you _know_ what a child conceived here will grow to be!"

"And is murder the only solution?" Father cried. "I know the law, but so help me, I will not act until I have considered every alternative!"

"The law states that one formed on this world must never know of his origins, and that his parents must suffer," Daughter spoke. "There are many ways to fulfill this."

"Name one!" Son challenged.

"Erase the mother's memory and send her and the child back from whence they came."

"And the father?"

Daughter's eyes filled with melancholy as she beheld the Skywalkers. "Exile him to a corner of the universe so distant, he may never again see home."

Son nodded, rubbing his chin. "Shame and burden the woman with single parenthood. Torture the man with hopeless isolation and an intact memory. I was wrong about you, sister. You do have a capacity for cruelty."

Tears glistened in her eyes. "I take no pleasure in this, brother. It satisfies the letter of the law with far less brutality than your option."

"That it does," Father said gravely. "But there is one last thing. Should he ever succeed in returning, the man must find no brethren. May it be as if he were never born."

The Force responded by raking a single lightning bolt across the sky, accompanied by an explosive thunderclap that knocked Ainar and Shmi to the ground.

"The time has come for you to leave us."

Paradise was dissolving before the couple's very eyes. Cracks and fissures formed beneath their feet, howling wind thrust their hair back from anguished faces, and an unseen power pried their hands apart inch by inch. Each clawed frantically to maintain hold of their beloved, knowing only seconds remained to imprint the other's face.

"I love you!" Ainar's face contorted in agony.

"_Ainar!_"

"No matter… what happens… I'll never stop searching for you!"

"Don't leave me!" sobbed Shmi.

"Take good care of the baby!" Ainar yelled through the wind.

"It can't end this way!"

"I'll always love you…"

The universe blinked once.

When it opened its eyes again, Ainar was staring at the cramped interior of the ship he'd last piloted. The seat next to his was conspicuously empty. And he knew exactly why. Releasing a soul-shattering cry into the void beyond, his numb hands started the engine.

Countless light years away, Shmi awoke on a narrow bed, head aching as she sat up and stared at the swollen bulge of life beneath her ribs. She'd just woken from that dream again: reliving the moment she told her masters that the baby was a virginal, miraculous conception. They, of course, had refused to believe her, but decided to postpone selling her until a later date.

Ambiguity and adversity lurked in her future. But not half as much as they did for the husband she, and everyone else, didn't know they'd forgotten.

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_Puzzle. Pieces. Complete. _


	11. Ch 11: Tapestries

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**Chapter 11 – Tapestries**

Vader's breathing was a hushed whisper compared to its usual hoarseness. It whined through his respirator as Ainar waited in consternation for him to respond.

Ainar rested elbows on knees dejectedly. "You don't believe what you've seen."

"Do not misinterpret my silence. I am simply in shock."

_Is that a good or bad thing?_ Ainar wondered.

"It is neither."

Stunned, Ainar jerked his head up. "You… you just…"

"Read your thoughts," Vader confirmed. "Easily done between two Force-sensitive minds."

"Force-sensitive?"

"Yes. You were unaware?"

Ainar blinked in confusion. "What does it mean?"

"You and I share the rare capability to channel the Force in ways others cannot."

"What sort of ways?"

Vader shifted, clearly not wanting to give a basic lecture on Force skills right now. "Enhanced intuition. Superb reflexes. The ability to use telekinesis and manipulate minds."

Understanding flooded Ainar's face. "All the things that helped me survive exile. Skills I didn't have before…"

"Before Mortis."

"That's right. How did you know?"

Unseen by Ainar, Vader was smiling wanly. "_My_ enhanced intuition told me."

"So what happened to me?"

"The Force 'infected' you, so to speak. Living for an extended period of time under such high concentrations altered your physiology."

Ainar absorbed this news stoically, pondering its full, broad import.

"You believe me, then," he quietly said.

How could Vader answer that succinctly? Denial was not an option, but neither was a trite "yes." A million thoughts – a million threads of previously unfinished tapestries – lay beyond those three small letters. He doubted Ainar was prepared for the deluge of emotions he'd unleashed. Vader hardly felt prepared himself.

Shmi hadn't lied. She was as blameless as could be, and as much a victim as the rest of her broken family.

"_In death, I at last found restoration."_

Truer words were never spoken since the dawn of the universe.

"_May you also find it by dying to yourself… just this once…"_

Vader stared at the man seated stiffly across from him. The man never credited with giving him life – or his remarkable midichlorian count. Though Shmi had known little of the Force, her wistful description of Anakin's birth implied that she knew the Force was responsible for his conception. And unwitting or not, it was true.

The fragmented tapestries in Vader's mind were starting to weave together.

His unequalled midichlorian count.

His lifelong state of restless angst and broken identity.

Inheriting what amounted to a male Skywalker curse of losing your pregnant wife around age 23.

"I have no choice but to believe."

Ainar breathed out slowly. "So… you accept that I am…"

"My father. Yes."

It was stated so plainly. Ainar had expected those words to incite a grand, overwhelming surge of emotion worthy of a moment such as this. Yet sitting there on a cold bench, staring at the polished ebony angles of his son's helmet, it all felt unnervingly anticlimactic.

"What happens now? Do we… hug?" Ainar eyed the black suit uncertainly.

Vader's muscles tensed. "I'd rather hear the remaining details of your journey."

"Oh." Ainar blinked, both relieved and disappointed. "Well, twenty-seven years passed between then and now. Anything you can imagine happened to me."

"And your Force abilities sustained you?"

"From one alien system to the next. There were plenty of close calls I thought would be the end of me, but somehow I always pulled through. Now I know it wasn't just luck – it was the Force."

Vader nodded. "Nothing else could have brought you back from a distant galaxy."

"Or shown me the portal to reenter ours," Ainar added.

_A portal?_ Of course… the hyperspace disturbance surrounding the galaxy's rim was impenetrable at best and destructive at worst. That technicality hadn't yet crossed Vader's mind.

"Where?" he asked, riveted.

"North of Helska, in the Dalonbian sector. I'm surprised it isn't well-known."

"As am I," Vader agreed. _The ramifications of a portal… Palpatine will want to know about this_.

"From there, I returned to Zygerria. It took a whole lot of mind suggestion to learn Shmi had gone to Tatooine," Ainar sighed at the memory. "No one recognized me, not even my former masters. To them I was just a homeless nobody with no right to the information."

"Your birth records, slave registry ID, all gone," Vader correctly inferred.

"I was told Shmi never married, and received poor treatment after Ana– your birth," Ainar corrected. "As a fatherless child, you had no official birth record. I didn't know if you were male or female, or if you'd traveled to Tatooine with her. For all I knew, you could've been separated and sold to another Zygerrian."

"But you went to Tatooine next."

"Yes. It was my only lead. But what I found when I arrived…"

Ainar choked on buried tears, praying the rest was self-evident. A series of inquiries leading him to the Lars homestead, where Owen and Beru told him the awful truth beneath twin scorching suns. Their overt mistrust of him even as devastation wracked his features. The pain and joy that ripped his heart in two as he contemplated Shmi's fate alongside their son's. A son whose fate seemed so hopeful and promising until…

"They told you where to find me," Vader stated.

"They only said when they last saw you, you were a Jedi on Coruscant, known as Imperial Center now. They said if I sought the Jedi temple, the pieces would fall into place."

Vader snorted. "Owen's still a rascal, I see."

"He had no reason to trust me. I came out of nowhere, claiming to be someone who shouldn't – and basically doesn't – exist."

True. Had Vader been in Owen's position, he'd have done no differently. Sending Ainar into a booby trap effectively served two purposes: reuniting him with his supposed son and ensuring he'd never bother the Lars again. _Clever, Owen. Clever and devious. Perhaps the Empire has overlooked a valuable ally_.

Dismissing the thought, Vader switched back to present matters. "So the Mortis clan performed their duty all too well."

"They did. And I'm still curious to know _your_ history with them."

"Indeed," Vader leaned back. "My experience was similar to yours in some ways. I too was summoned there."

"Why?"

_Am I ready to share this? By doing so, I risk fracturing the dam that keeps my darkest secrets at bay…_

"Father erroneously believed I was a figure known as the Chosen One."

It had been many years since Ainar heard that phrase, yet he remembered it distinctly.

"_They deserve to know nothing! Not even the name of this world, for that is only for the Chosen One's ears. _Right_, Father?"_

"…_Yes. That privilege is for the Chosen One alone."_

"Chosen One… what does that _mean?_" Ainar frowned.

"It is nothing but foolish nonsense!" barked Vader, springing from his seat in irritation.

"Yet you know the name of Mortis. Those beings… they said only the Chosen One could know that."

"I don't care what they said! They've all been annihilated anyway!"

"What?" gasped Ainar.

"They all perished. Son murdered Daughter, and the only way to destroy him was for Father to fatally wound himself, which weakened Son's powers," Vader explained. "Then I… I vanquished him. And Mortis vanished."

Ainar stared mutely, struck by the news. Vader paced restlessly.

"They prophesied about one bringing balance to the Force, yet their own disharmony caused their ruin," Vader derided. "Their theories are worthless!"

"Maybe. But I doubt just anyone could have conquered Son, even with Father impaired."

"You are mistaken! Any Jedi could have done so!"

"Shouting won't change my opinion."

Balling his fists, Vader glowered at his father. "I am not accustomed to arguing."

"And I'm not trying to argue," Ainar rose with confidence. "I'm just pointing out a few things you may have failed to notice."

"Do tell."

Ainar circled his son with arms crossed. "Look at the big picture. Your mother and I couldn't conceive for five years, and then suddenly we do – at the nexus of good and evil, equidistant from the two poles of power that apparently govern the entire universe. Are you going to call that an insignificant coincidence?"

"Just because the Force enhanced your fertility does not mean you should jump to absurd conclusions."

"It's no more absurd than the Force 'infecting' me," Ainar reasoned.

"It is not for you to analyze the grand scope of the Force."

"Is it for you, then?"

"It is for no one. The Force is inscrutable."

"Then who are you to dismiss the Chosen One prophecy offhand?"

Vader had reached his boiling point. "_LOOK_ at me! Do I look like anyone's dream come true?" he extended both arms outward, commanding Ainar's full attention. "I am death, darkness, and destruction incarnate! Who in their right mind would deem me the chosen arbiter of balance and justice?"

The question was of the same nature as that which Ainar had been asked earlier:

"_I'm supposed to fear you."_

"_You don't?"_

He hadn't given the prosaic answer then. And he'd be damned if he gave it now.

Where the vast majority of people saw a tyrant whose heart was blacker than his suit, Ainar was the one person who could see beyond. The man standing before him was broken in two, and Ainar saw both halves with increasing clarity. One half was responsible for unspeakable horrors. But the other… the other carried an affliction as deep as Ainar's own. Perhaps even deeper.

Recoiling from territory he had not yet been invited into, he stared at his son a moment longer, taking in the breadth of his outstretched arms.

There was only one viable response. Not another soul in the galaxy would dare – much less dream – of attempting it. But Ainar sensed if he didn't do it now, the chance would be lost forever, and something far greater along with it.

Vader stood in speechless shock as the arms he'd spread in defiance were embraced in fearless compassion. Even had the Emperor himself walked in at that moment, he'd be unable to release his father's hug. It felt surreal. After five years of total sensory deprivation, feeling the warmth and pressure of another being's body, even through his suit, knocked the wind out of him. He feared the slightest flinch might end it, and he'd wake in his Quabbrat pod, victim of yet another cruel dream.

Yet a full minute passed without that happening. Ainar's embrace was real.

_Why did I shrink from his offer before?_ Vader wondered_. I… I feel human again_…

"I'm no expert on justice," Ainar's voice shook slightly, "but I know a thing or two about love. That's enough for me."

"You'll find there's little of that left in me," Vader confessed gruffly.

"A little is all I need."

The scars on Vader's face tugged against his anguished frown. "If you knew half of what I've done…"

"I intend to know more than half, son," Ainar stated with firm resolve. "Everything."

"You don't know what you're asking. You'll regret it."

With a final squeeze, Ainar stepped back, keeping both hands on Vader's shoulders. "After twenty-seven years, regret isn't an option."

"Hold fast to that conviction. You will need every last ounce."

"Whatever your burden, I will help ease it."

Vader's head dropped. "I don't know how you can…"

"I have an idea," Ainar said eagerly. "First, we need a change in scenery."

"What did you have in mind?"

Ainar's smile was warm and self-assured. "A tour of the home you never knew."

"You mean Zygerria?"

"The one and only."

The invitation was too great to decline. "Shall we leave immediately?"

"I'm ready if you are."

Ready? Vader doubted he'd ever be truly _ready_ for this pilgrimage. But with a man of his father's heart and caliber at his side, he might just walk through it unscathed. Possibly even transformed, if only a little.

"Follow me," Vader strode down the hall with Ainar jogging to keep pace.

The guards at the processing desk stood at attention when the dark lord appeared, surprised to see the prisoner in tow – and free of any visible signs of torture.

"Discharge this prisoner and alter his records," Vader ordered. "Change his surname to Starkiller, and erase all evidence to the contrary."

Not the strangest order they'd ever received from Lord Vader, but one that made the troops raise their eyebrows nonetheless.

"Yes sir," Commander TK212 began accessing electronic files. "Will there be anything else?"

"Lease him an apartment at 250 Republica. The rent will come directly from my personal account."

"Consider it done, sir."

Waving two fingers before their visors, Vader sealed the formalities. "His name is Starkiller. It has always been Starkiller. You know of no other aliases."

"His name has always been Starkiller. He has no other aliases," parroted the guards.

"Good." Vader nodded once at Ainar and headed for the door. Once outside, Ainar squinted at the sun as they made for a nearby shuttle.

"Why the name change?"

"We must conceal your identity from the Emperor."

Ainar accepted this silently. The name of Skywalker certainly hadn't earned him any warm welcomes so far.

"And an apartment of my own?" he asked uncertainly.

"It's not safe for you to stay at my palace. Prying eyes watch it constantly… or so I have reason to believe."

"That's unfortunate."

Vader glanced briefly in his father's direction. "Yes, for both of us."

"We'll just have to make the most of our quality time while it lasts, then," Ainar replied. "This trip will serve many purposes."

"That it will," Vader closed the shuttle door and began the launch sequence.

As father and son soared into the late afternoon sky, their thoughts lingered on everything but the hapless prisoner stuck in cell block 7-B. Hunched in a corner, bracing for the next wave of frigid cold or sweltering heat that alternated every hour, Han Solo called out feebly.

"Hello?" his voice rang down the empty corridor. "Darth an' his pops have gotta be done talkin' by now! Let me outta here! _Please?_ C'mon!"

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The Zygerrian sun had long set by the time Vader and Ainar entered the old slaver's system. Their sector of destination was all but asleep when they landed. Even under full darkness, however, Vader could pick out a few familiar landmarks. The outline of the royal palace was unmistakable in the distance, sparking memories of negotiations with Queen Miraj Scintel seven years prior.

_So imperious and unyielding, Miraj. Our talks would have gone so much more efficiently if only I'd worn this suit back then._

He cringed at the emotional contradiction of wishing he'd become its prisoner sooner.

Thankfully, Ainar distracted him by raising more pragmatic concerns.

"It's late," the older man unlatched his harness. "I know of a decent inn not far from here, if it's still in operation."

Vader fumbled with his own harness, suddenly anxious. "An inn?"

"Right up this road," Ainar pointed toward a street lamp several blocks down. Straightening his tunic, he began to lead the way; he took a dozen steps before realizing Vader's weren't falling alongside his.

"Come on, what are you waiting for?" he called back to his son, who was still standing in a puddle.

"I sorry… I can't."

"I know this neighborhood like the back of my hand! It's the safest you'll find south of the palace."

"Safety is irrelevant," Vader almost laughed. What seedy ghetto would he ever fear?

"Then what…?" Ainar stopped, intuitively answering his own question. "Oh… you can't sleep in a normal bed."

Vader tried to suppress his mounting shame. "Correct."

Shame also plagued Ainar as he traced his steps back to the dormant shuttle. "Forgive me son, I wasn't thinking."

"No apology is necessary," Vader replied tersely, poking his head back through the rear hatch. "You may spend the night wherever you wish. I will remain here."

"In the _shuttle?_" Ainar was incredulous.

"There is an emergency oxygen compartment on board," Vader uncoiled a series of valves and hoses.

"You can't be serious!"

"I have utilized it several times on away missions."

"But… that can't be comfortable!" Ainar exclaimed, dismayed by the unwieldy apparatus his son was assembling.

Locking the final tube into place, Vader shrugged. "Lack of sleep is even less so."

Ainar couldn't believe his eyes and ears. Who could glean five minutes of restorative sleep under such conditions?

"I don't require supervision," Vader's impatience crept back. "As I said, you're free to sponsor the inn."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"What?"

"As I recall, the point of this trip was bonding and solidarity," proclaimed Ainar. "We achieve neither if I take the easy comfort of a bed when my son cannot."

"Are you out of your mind?" Vader scoffed as Ainar moved past him toward the cockpit.

Pulling a bedroll from his travel sack, Ainar arched an eyebrow. "Are you really going to bar your old man from sleeping shotgun?"

Ainar's stubbornness was on par with Vader's, the Sith admitted to himself. Masochistic or not, the man had clearly made up his mind. It was his choice if he wanted a stiff skeleton the following morning.

"Suit yourself, but between the two of us, I'm more likely to wake rested," Vader eased himself into the padded medical nook.

"Fine by me," yawned Ainar.

"Understand you must face forward the entire night. Not once are you to turn around."

"Unnhmm…"

That wasn't the verbal acknowledgment Vader was angling for.

"Is that understood?"

No response.

"…Father?" he addressed him for the first time with a strange mix of anger and timidity.

Choppy snoring filled the cabin.

Vader sighed, staring at the back of his father's chair. He could force Ainar's compliance by rousing him from his sleep, but that would require untangling himself first. He currently lacked energy or motivation to do anything but remove his helmet and strap on the oxygen supply. Besides, if Ainar went out like a light, he was likely a sound sleeper… one who wasn't prone to restless fits in the middle of the night. Satisfied with this reasoning, Vader let his scalp make contact with the smooth pillow, closing his eyes as exhaustion claimed its next victim.

Vader was deep in demented dreams when his logic proved faulty. Halfway between midnight and dawn sprang one variable he hadn't anticipated: an aging man's bladder.

Stumbling for the exit, Ainar took care not to bump into anything on his drowsy quest to relieve himself. He was five steps from the door when something snagged his peripheral vision. A pale shape hung in the shadows on his left. Too groggy for inhibition, he leaned closer, wondering if it was a stray vestige of a dream.

He nearly fell backwards when he realized it wasn't.

Even a moonless, starless night couldn't shroud the ravages of Vader's face. Not one square inch was free of poorly-healed ridges and misshapen gouges. The hiss of the portable respirator rendered the scene all the more ghastly.

Ainar clasped both hands to his mouth, frozen. It took every shred of willpower to keep from crying out.

_My son…_

He was too morbidly captivated to look away, despite his conscience telling him to do so. _This isn't right. He deserves privacy until he's ready to share everything._

But what had been seen could not be unseen.

Somehow in his traumatized stupor, Ainar made his way outside, mindlessly fulfilling his original objective. The last pre-dawn hours passed in a vacuum of silence. In his chair, Ainar never again averted his eyes from the shuttle's windshield. He didn't close them again either.

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_I know of the other sources/uses of the name Starkiller - just pretend the context of "The Force Unleashed" doesn't apply. :P  
Anakin visiting Zygerria comes from the Clone Wars episode "Slaves of the Republic."  
____Patience, readers... I have a bit more drama to indulge in before bringing Padme & the twins into the story. But it's coming._

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	12. Ch 12: Tourist Trap

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**Chapter 12 – Tourist Trap**

The fourth full day of Padmé and the twins' asylum on Tatooine began as the first three did. Owen was up before the binary sunrise, Beru began culinary multi-tasking soon after, and their guests were free to rise at their leisure. The young family had taken advantage of the luxury, sleeping until 0900 hours on average. But that morning, just a half hour past sunrise, Beru turned from the oven to find Padmé standing in the kitchen doorway.

"Oh!" she held a hand to her chest. "Padmé, you're up earlier than usual!"

"Shh, I don't want to wake the children," Padmé whispered. "Sorry to startle you, but I figured now was the best time we could talk alone… if it's not an imposition."

"Not at all, if you don't mind me bustling around a little," Beru reached for a ball of dough to knead.

Padmé seated herself at the table. "That's fine. This conversation may be easier without full eye contact anyway."

Beru dropped the dough. "What's the matter?"

"I haven't been sleeping well, for starters."

"Who can blame you? You're not exactly here for rest and relaxation," Beru said gently.

"It's not just that. It's Luke and Leia."

"Don't tell me they knocked over another dew condenser jug."

"No… we had a long talk about that," Padmé grimaced. "It won't happen again."

"Then what is it?"

Fiddling with the corner of a napkin, Padmé avoided Beru's concerned eyes. "On the flight over here, they said things that have been eating at me ever since."

Beru abandoned her mixing bowls and sat down. "Tell me."

"_We know daddy's not dead._

_"You told Aunt Breha that Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru don't like daddy. I can tell from the way you said it that he's not dead."_

"I'm such a terrible mother," Padmé buried her face in her hands. "I should have known they'd figure it out if I wasn't more careful…"

"What are you talking about?"

"They saw right through the lies, Beru! They know _he's_ still alive!" To her, neither of his names seemed appropriate, so she relied on pronouns. She knew Beru wouldn't need clarification.

The color drained from Beru's face. "What? How…?"

"A slip of the tongue!" Padmé lamented. "Not that they wouldn't catch on eventually, being so damn Force-sensitive. What was I thinking, trying to spoon-feed them information on my terms?"

"If they're that sensitive, I'd say you did fairly well these past five years," Beru tried to hearten her.

"But they're still too young for this! And they know I lied to them… I swear they haven't looked at me the same since!"

"There now, I'm sure it's not that severe. Guilt can make us imagine things sometimes."

"Maybe. But my insomnia sure isn't imaginary."

The two women stared at the same imperfection on the table's surface, lost in unpleasant thought.

"I wish I knew what to say, Padmé. If Owen and I were able to have children, I might have a bit of wisdom to share. I'm sorry I don't."

Padmé shook her head. "Just having you listen is enough. You're one of very few people who understand."

"Then take it from someone who understands: you did the best you could."

"That's small comfort to Luke and Leia right now."

Beru clasped her sister-in-law's hands in her own. "You were hardly dealt the best of hands, Padmé. I don't know of any other women, myself included, who'd have handled it with half the strength and poise you did."

"Really? Where was my strength and poise when I lay sobbing at your door days after they were born?"

"It was _most_ present then. You didn't shut down or give up. You had the fortitude to do what had to be done for their safety."

Padmé huffed a dry laugh. "I channeled all my efforts into protecting them _physically_, but when it came to their _hearts_…"

"You protected those admirably also," Beru insisted. "Like you said, it was inevitable that they'd learn the truth. You may think it's too early, but the Force obviously doesn't."

"I might take it better if they weren't asking to _see_ him!"

"_Uncle Obi-Wan and I only want to keep you and Luke safe. It might not make sense now but it will someday, I promise._

_Will we get to see daddy someday too?_

_I wish you could, but I don't think that can ever happen._

_Why not? … Just because Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru don't like him?"_

Wiping away a tear of frustration, Padmé slumped in her chair. "They think the only reason they can't is because _you_ and _Owen_ dislike him. Honestly! It's all just petty grown-up drama to them! They don't understand!"

Beru's brow pinched at hearing this. "That _is_ unfortunate."

"I've been walking on eggshells the past few days, wondering if they'll bring it up again."

"Hmm…" the wheels of Beru's mind began to turn. "Being cooped up here surely isn't helping."

"Tell me about it. The dew condenser jug proves they're running out of ways to entertain themselves."

"And I'm running out of chores for you to help me with."

"Any bright ideas?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Beru smirked a little. "How does a day trip to Anchorhead sound?"

"Anchorhead?" Padmé looked dubious. "Isn't that two sandstorms away from becoming a ghost town?"

"It's boomed since you were last here. There's an arcade and a few other tourist traps."

_Better than nothing, I suppose_. "We can give it a try."

"Good. If Luke and Leia enjoy it, I'll talk Owen into letting me go with you once or twice a week."

"Won't he need you around?"

"This time of year is slow for us anyway. Besides, he can fend for himself once in a while. The larder's full."

"If you're sure," Padmé smiled graciously.

"Absolutely. Just let me finish these few recipes and we'll be out of here in no time," Beru rose and shoved some pans in the oven. "This trip will be just what you need. You'll see."

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To Padmé's amazement, Anchorhead had indeed grown since her last visit. Many of the condemned buildings had been renovated and new construction projects were even underway. Adding to the charm was a small carnival they fortuitously stumbled upon. Luke and Leia were enthusiastic about the trip to begin with, and this tipped them into full-blown euphoria.

Sitting on a shaded bench, Beru and Padmé watched the twins spin around on a ride their stomachs would likely regret riding. For now, however, their faces were wild with ecstatic glee.

Beru took a sip of her flavored ice drink. "I told you they'd love it! Just what the doctor ordered."

"We got lucky… the carnival isn't always in town, is it?"

"I wouldn't know. Owen's usually the one who drives out here."

"Oh," replied Padmé absently, eyes darting as she looked over her shoulder.

Beru frowned. "Is something wrong?"

"Hm?"

"You keep looking behind you."

Luke and Leia's playful squeals brought Padmé back to her senses. "I don't know why I'm so paranoid. This is the last place anyone would recognize me, but I still can't shake this feeling…"

"You're just not used to letting your guard down," Beru offered.

"Maybe that's it. I hope that's all," Padmé hugged herself tightly.

"I'm sure it is. Look, the ride's over – let's make sure Luke and Leia find a bucket if they need one!"

Miraculously, neither twin did. Padmé envied their Force-fortified constitutions. As the afternoon progressed, they twirled and spun so many times that just watching them made the women feel ill. Once their appetites returned, it took Padmé's best negotiating skills to get the twins to a diner that served things other than fried dough and cotton candy.

Some daylight remained by the time they finished dinner. With both children infatuated with plush banthas they'd won earlier, Beru and Padmé dragged them from one curiosity shop to the next, hunting bargains and treasures galore.

The evening's lazy pace finally started to soften Padmé's anxiety. A sundress here, a storybook there, and a handful of gaudy jewelry seemed to be the perfect formula to calm her worries.

She was all but cured of her distress when they entered one last store. They'd saved it for last for good reason – the merchandise was cheap, with a target clientele of gullible tourists who wanted a kitschy memento from Tatooine. The aisles smelled of Corellian tobacco and failure.

Naturally, Luke and Leia loved the place. Padmé kept a steady eye on them as Luke chased his sister with a sarlacc puppet, which she combated with a krayt dragon figurine.

"Not much here I can't live without," Beru mumbled to her companion.

"Me either," Padmé squeezed a Jabba stress ball. "Let's give the kids a few more minutes and then head out."

"Oh, I bet Owen would _love_ this," Beru said sarcastically, holding a miniature-sized moisture vaporator. "It's a soap dispenser!"

"Perfect for his birthday!"

"And this sand globe is really a fine piece of art," Beru shook it to simulate a sandstorm.

"For the person who has everything," Padmé laughed. "Or lost everything in a _real_ sandstorm!"

"You're terrible."

"Not half as terrible as this Tuscan Raider magnet!"

"That _is_ pretty awful."

"Would you buy me this binary star t-shirt if I asked nicely?"

"You might regret it, with the way those suns are positioned!"

"The sunspots are strategically placed too."

"And all for just fifteen credits! What a steal!"

They giggled wickedly for another minute or two, and then Padmé checked her wrist chrono.

"All right kids, time to go," she called in the direction she'd seen them last.

Beru rose on her tiptoes, peering between the shelves. "I think I see them three aisles down."

"You take the right, and I'll take the left," Padmé conspired.

Her two-pronged attack was foolproof. With nowhere to escape, the frisky five-year-olds would have no choice but to let the adults escort them out. Padmé might even be persuaded to buy them the puppet and dragon toy if they went peacefully.

That thought turned to dust the instant she rounded the corner. Without warning, she came face-to-face with the most horrid, garish display in the entire store. It was as if the owner knew how to arrange it squarely at her eye level.

Cast in resin were two small tall figures mounted on a base. The character on the right was clutching its throat, terrified eyes staring at a five-inch-tall version of Darth Vader. The latter's outstretched arm wasn't quite proportioned right, but its action was obvious.

Padmé blanched. _Someone's sick, twisted idea of a joke…_

An attention-getting flyer hung in front of the display. In bold, neon lettering, it listed the toy's many novel features.

"Genuine die-cast Geonosian resin!"

"Reenact the Dark Lord's carnage on your coffee table!"

"Comes with CLOTH detachable cape!"

"Lightsaber glows when button is pushed!"

"Click Vader's helmet to say three phrases:

'_Don't make me destroy you.'_

'_Apology accepted.'_

'_If you only knew the power of the Dark Side.'"_

Emitting a heart-wrenching cry, Padmé felt her knees buckle.

Moments later, when her children tore down the aisle with Beru in close pursuit, they found her collapsed on the tiled floor. Luke and Leia came to an uncertain halt several steps from their mother, who was sobbing into a plush Hutt doll.

Beru was too triumphant upon catching them to immediately notice Padmé's sad state.

"Padmé, there you are! What happened to my backup?"

"Mommy's sad," Leia mildly scolded her aunt.

"Oh! Padmé, are you all right?" Beru rushed to her side. "Are you hurt?"

Shaking her head, Padmé raised a distraught face and pointed at the incriminating shelf.

Beru bit her lip, wanting to cover Luke and Leia's eyes. "Oh my stars… of all the wretched things to sell…"

"Cool!" Luke grabbed one and started randomly pressing buttons. A flurry of audio clips played over each other as the lightsaber flashed on and off.

"Don't make me – the power of the – apology accept – accepted – d-destroy you–"

"LUKE! Put that _down!_" Beru half screamed, swiping it from his hands.

The boy flinched at her seemingly unprovoked anger. "I wasn't gonna break it!"

"You and Leia go stand over there for a minute. And. Don't. Move," she directed them toward the magazines.

"Yes ma'am," Luke muttered, exchanging a perplexed look with his sister.

Disgusted, Beru shelved the detestable item and helped Padmé to her feet.

"What a horrible thing to stock!" she commiserated. "I have half a mind to speak with the owner!"

"Please, no. I want to go home," sniffed Padmé.

"Well, I may come back on my own sometime and have a word with him."

"Do whatever you want… can we please just leave?"

"Of course," Beru beckoned the twins and the four of them headed out the door brusquely.

Padmé smeared away the rest of her tears as they approached the transport station, not wanting her children – or fellow passengers – to see her so unhinged. It would take monumental restraint to keep her composure all the way back to the homestead, but she'd do it somehow. She had to. Luke and Leia were staring at her with far too much concerned curiosity as it was.

_Please don't ask me why I broke down in there… please…_ she begged earnestly. _See? Mommy's done crying now, so everything's fine. We'll all go back and have warm tea before bed, and you'll remember only the good parts of today._

Her stomach turned as she recognized the look in Leia's eyes. Her daughter was seconds away from asking a question. Any moment now…

Providentially, a mechanic pulled up on a speeder just then. The small group of hopeful travelers knew this was a bad omen.

"Sorry to tell you folks, but the last transport out has been cancelled. Engine problems."

A collective moan rose from the crowd.

"Safe-N-Sandy Carriers apologizes for the inconvenience, and is willing to give you all vouchers for one free night at the Mirage Motel."

Beru pursed her lips in defeat. "Guess I'd better contact Owen and let him know."

"We're staying here tonight?" Leia tugged on Padmé's cloak.

"Yes honey. There's no other way home."

"Cool," Luke asserted once again. "I like this place!"

_That makes one of us_, Padmé glanced at Beru ruefully.

The Skywalker party migrated toward the illustrious Mirage Motel and soon found themselves in a small but cozy room. Two lumpy mattresses awaited the adults. The twins fought for mutual territory on a narrow pull-out sofa bed. Despite their protesting, both fell asleep within minutes, leaving Padmé and Beru to whisper in the dark.

"I'm so embarrassed for causing that scene," Padmé repented.

"Don't worry about it. Are you okay now?"

"I… I'm not sure. It hit me so suddenly. It's just been so long since I last saw…"

"I know, I know," Beru consoled. "You don't have to explain."

"Ironically, I've done _too_ good a job of blocking him from our lives. It's easy to forget how real the evil is. Just because it's out of sight doesn't mean it's gone anywhere."

"It's just a tasteless toy, Padmé. It can't hurt you or the children."

Padmé rubbed her temples. "It's not just the toy. I feel like I've been on the brink of breaking down for months now. I don't know if I can do this anymore… how much longer I'll hold out."

One of the twins rolled over, making Padmé fear she'd woken them. She sighed with relief when silence followed.

"Don't despair, Padmé," Beru encouraged. "Those twins are proof that all good hasn't been snuffed out of the universe."

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Several sectors away, another day of sightseeing was drawing to a close, but the points of interest were far less banal than Anchorhead's shops. None of the Zygerrians who gave Vader a wide berth would've guessed his reasons for touring the planet were sentimental in nature. Nor would they have believed the man accompanying him was a relative with whom he was attempting to bond. The very idea was heretical, and likely to land one in prison, or at least a mental institution.

Not that the situation wasn't equally disconcerting to Vader. To maintain appearances, he'd cuffed Ainar with unlocked wrist binders, pretending to lead him through the streets toward imprisonment. Ainar found the arrangement a little odd, but for the sake of harmony, he cooperated. The cuffs didn't hinder his ability to guide his son from one location to another. He was still able to narrate the highlights of their route.

Both he and Vader were glad to see much of the bombed district had been rebuilt. The original infrastructure had been thoroughly reconstructed. To Ainar's astonishment, the replica of the stately townhouse in which he'd been born looked identical. In his hasty homecoming last week, he hadn't the time to stroll through these old neighborhoods; doing so now with his son in tow left him nearly speechless.

He managed to pronounce the key areas of importance. The slab of sidewalk where he and Shmi had first crossed paths. The Basic Skills classroom – now a bakery – where they officially met. The fountain where they shared their first kiss. And lastly, the zenith of all sites: the humble patch of grass on which they'd exchanged wedding vows, shaded by two crimson-leafed trees overlooking a duck pond.

"Most slaves were lucky to get a backyard ceremony, if one at all," Ainar leaned against one of the trees wistfully. "We truly had the best owners. They cared for us almost like their own children."

Reminiscing, Ainar didn't notice his son's agitation. Only when he turned from the pond's calm waters did he sense Vader's discomfort.

"Are you not feeling well? Should we return to the ship?"

Vader crossed and uncrossed his arms while digging his heels into the mud.

"You… married by the water."

"Yes," Ainar restated the obvious.

"By the water…" Vader sounded as if he was talking in his sleep.

Ainar's prowess with the Force was yet untamed, but Vader's signals were intense enough to project a half-formed picture in his mind. A balcony… cool, aromatic breezes from the lake below… sunset, robes, and lace… dark curls covered in lace…

His jaw fell open. There was only one way to interpret what he saw.

"You… you were…" he stuttered, incapable of saying it.

"Married." Vader breathed heavily.

Ainar stared in unabashed wonder. If he thought he had questions _before_…

"Where is she now?"

A day spent with this man had impacted Vader in ways even he didn't yet realize. Faint was the urge to break Ainar's vocal chords for daring to ask this. More incredible still were the words Vader's own vocal chords were about to form. It sounded like another voice saying them.

"You have shared the private details of your past, pain and all. I will return the favor tomorrow when we travel to Tatooine."

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_Had waaay too much fun with this chapter. Even the GFFA has tacky tourist traps… who knew?  
BTW, Jabba stress balls were actually conceptualized for marketing, but Lucas pulled the plug before they were ever made. Shame!_

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	13. Ch 13: Do you see what I see

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**Chapter 13 – Do you see what I see**

Ainar's dreams were full of turmoil the night before departing for Tatooine, and not just because that leg of their trip had been added without warning. Behind each of his eyelids hung an image that shrieked for answers: that of his son's unmasked face, and that of his bride's.

Who was she? What was her name? How long had they been joined before… that suit?

From what he glimpsed before Vader shut the vision away, she was beautiful. Her flushed cheeks and tender brown eyes evinced a love deeper than Varykino's lakes – although he didn't know that name, or that of Naboo. That ceremony could have taken place anywhere in the galaxy. Likewise, that young, blooming flower of a woman could be anywhere now.

Unless she wasn't blooming anymore...

Ainar banished the thought, too sickened by it to see straight. He spent the remainder of the night trying to imagine myriad other fates she could have met. His imagination did a subpar job.

The silver rays of sunrise felt both delayed and premature. Ainar heard Vader rustle awake and was seized by his first pangs of real doubt.

"_I intend to know more than half, son," Ainar stated with firm resolve. "Everything."_

"_You don't know what you're asking. You'll regret it."_

Maybe he would. But it was too late to turn back now.

Neither he nor Vader spoke while the latter inspected the shuttle's systems before takeoff. The silence continued half an hour after leaving Zygerria's atmosphere. Just when Ainar thought Vader had rescinded his offer, the dark lord finally blurted something.

"Three hours to Tatooine."

"All right," Ainar blinked.

"We're on autopilot now."

Ainar acknowledged this mutely.

Vader stared at the passing stars. "Do you still wish to know my demons?"

It was hard to say who was more anxious. Both men refrained from looking at each other.

"I do," Ainar said with more steadiness than he felt.

Father and son's thoughts aligned in total synchronization. _This needs to happen. If it doesn't, everything is for naught. This trip… this connection that defies all logic and reason… it might as well have been a daydream._

A force – but not necessarily _the_ Force – made Vader swivel to face his father, who pivoted toward him in turn.

"Very well. If that is your choice," declared Vader with dark finality.

Ainar blinked twice and plunged into the sun-soaked youth of Anakin Skywalker.

"Mom!" an eight-year-old boy with bleached hair came running into the kitchen. "Look what I caught!"

A woman with eyes siphoned of nearly all joy stooped to see what was cupped tightly in his hands.

"It's a kreetle!" he announced with gusto, prying a few fingers apart to let her see.

"My, that's a big one. Be careful it doesn't bite you!"

"Naw, it won't. I stuck a hartel nut between its pinchers."

"Good thinking."

"Can I keep it?"

Shmi grimaced. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?" Anakin pouted.

"Because they need a lot of food, Anakin. We can't afford a pet, not even a kreetle."

"I'll work extra hours for Watto!" he bargained.

"Then when would you have time to spend with it?"

Anakin frowned, lacking the higher reasoning to see this obstacle on his own.

"Why don't you put your friend back where you found him, and then wash your hands for dinner," Shmi gave him a half-hearted smile. "We're having your favorite tonight."

"Fried bantha strips with cheese sauce?"

"That's it!" she ruffled his hair. "So cheer up."

Anakin appeared ambivalent as he scuffed outside to release the kreetle, squatting next to the clay urn where he'd first spotted it.

"We coulda been best friends, little guy," he confided, rolling the insect in his palms. "Maybe if I had a dad, he'd let me keep you. I bet he would."

The creature wriggled its six legs in response.

"I bet he'd get us out of here so I could have all the pets I want. And mom wouldn't be so sad all the time."

The kreetle skittered under the pot without a backwards glance. It couldn't grasp Anakin's hardship. By the downcast look in his eyes, nobody did.

Before Ainar could summon a mournful tear for his son's childhood, the scene shifted. Adobe walls were replaced with elegantly curved windows, beyond which lay more prosperity than the dustbowl of Mos Eisley would develop in a hundred lifetimes. In place of rough, unfinished floors were gleaming tiles… and on them stood not a pair of worn moccasins, but brown leather boots no slave would ever possess.

That was because Anakin was no longer a slave. Clothed in the tan layers of a Jedi padawan, Ainar's thirteen-year-old son stood rigidly before a semicircle of robed masters – and to the left of a bearded man.

"How goes the training, Obi-Wan?" a green Jedi of diminutive stature asked.

The man in question blinked self-consciously. "Fair, Master Yoda."

"A mixed report, I sense you have to give."

"Yes," Obi-Wan coughed. "Nothing harmful this time, just... practical jokes."

Yoda lifted his brow at Anakin. "Really? What sort of tomfoolery?"

"Well, last night I got a transmission from the Twi'lek exotic dancers guild," Obi-Wan's face burned red. "_Someone_ signed me up for a free trial subscription of their holo broadcast."

"I see," Yoda kneaded his armrest, discomfited.

"Twice this week I've had my cereal switched with Toydarian hound kibble."

"Didn't you smell it when you opened the box?" Mace Windu wrinkled his nose.

"My sinuses have been clogged from exposure to miniature bantha fur," Obi-Wan glowered at his padawan. "Don't ask me where he found one, but he just _had_ to bring it home."

"Removed from your living quarters now, is it?"

"Oh yes. That was gone in a heartbeat."

Yoda and the others nodded, assuming that concluded things. They assumed wrong.

"Yes, gone in a heartbeat… unlike the hair dye he put in my shampoo," Obi-Wan flung his hood back.

A dozen Jedi masters – some more than a hundred years old – found it difficult to keep straight faces. Such was the challenge when Obi-Wan Kenobi stared back at them with multi-colored locks of orange, green, and yellow hair.

"Four months. That's how long it lasts."

Mace slid a hand across his mouth, feigning a cough. "It's barely noticeable."

Even Yoda struggled to maintain decorum. "An interesting look that is on you, Obi-Wan."

"I'm glad everyone else finds it amusing," Obi-Wan flicked the hood back up. "Try not to forget who's behind these pranks."

"Ahem, yes," Yoda straightened in his seat. "Young Skywalker, what have you to say for yourself?"

Anakin glared flatly. "Nothing."

Obi-Wan sighed in exasperation. "You see? This is the disrespect I get daily. The boy–"

"_The boy_ has a name, you know!" yelled Anakin.

"Which you'll deserve to be called when you start acting like a decent padawan!"

"How about you stop acting like a douche a first!"

"Speaking that way is unacceptable in our quarters, and even less so before the council!"

"See, that's your problem – so uptight and proper all the time. Just tell me to quit running my mouth, not this _'even less so before the council'_ crap," Anakin mocked.

Obi-Wan balled his fists, fighting to subdue his anger. "Any advice you have would be most welcome, Master Yoda."

"Tried to discipline him have you?"

"Extra chores, longer meditation sessions… I've done everything."

"No effect on obedience?"

"None that I can see."

Yoda nodded, pressing his lips. "Seen this type of behavior before, we have."

"You have?" Obi-Wan exhaled in relief.

"Yes, many times."

"Thank goodness! Tell me what I can do."

Yoda and Mace shared a conspiratorial glance.

"Persevere."

"_What?_"

"With great patience."

Dumbstruck, Obi-Wan gaped at them. "That's _it?_ That's the best you can offer?"

"Until found is the cure for puberty's angst, yes."

"You're telling me I just have to put up with it until he finishes puberty?" he balked.

"Unless you've got a time machine to jump five years into the future," Mace quipped.

"I can't believe you're writing this off as typical adolescent antics."

"Typical, perhaps not entirely," Yoda conceded. "Less severe it might be if a father figure he had before age ten. Rebelling against many things, he subconsciously is."

Anakin locked his arms against his chest, brooding at the chamber floor. He was obviously in no mood to confirm or deny Yoda's psychological profiling. Sighing heavily, Obi-Wan bowed to the council, biting his tongue when Anakin barely dipped his head.

"Very well then. We bid you good day, Masters."

"Good day to you both as well," Yoda returned sincerely.

Unheard to all but Ainar in his omniscience, Obi-Wan's parting thoughts were less gracious than his words.

_Some days, honoring Qui-Gon's dying wish is a lot harder than others..._

Obi-Wan's disgruntled face vanished along with the Jedi council room. Ainar watched in awe as Anakin's teenage years elapsed rapidly. Milestones overlapped each other in quick succession: the broadening of his shoulders, the lowering of his larynx, the masterful fine-tuning of his mechanical skills. The cherubic features of his pre-teen youth morphed into sharp, taut angles of manhood. He looked virtually indistinguishable from Ainar at age nineteen.

"Ani? My goodness, you've grown."

_She_ was standing before him, grinning, her petite figure draped in the fine clothes of a diplomat. In an ironic reversal of height, Anakin now towered over her, belying his inferior age. But judging by the idyllic scenes that followed on Naboo, their age gap mattered little to either of them.

Reasonably, or so he thought, Ainar predicted the next vignette would depict their wedding.

The Tuscan Raider massacre he saw instead jarred him back to reality.

Vader had, after all, prefaced this autobiography with ample warning.

When the wedding scene unfolded minutes later, Ainar was too unnerved to bask in its sweetness. What seemed enchanting the first time he saw it now felt tainted and ominous. What good could come from a love that turned a blind eye to murder?

The answer came in three years' time, when a war-weary Anakin threw himself into his wife's arms… and stepped back, overwhelmed, to behold her distended womb. Yet another tainted moment where joy mixed with pain – a ratio that grew more toxic each time Anakin experienced one of those _dreams_.

Dreams whose horror the Chancellor gradually persuaded Anakin to make come true.

Midway through the Jedi temple slaughter, Ainar numbed himself. He had to in order to tolerate the rest. The Separatist bloodshed on Mustafar… the heated confrontation on the landing platform… her pregnant form hitting the ground, unconscious… and then the battle. A battle whose outcome solved one half of the riddle that was Darth Vader.

The other half unraveled as footage of _her_ funeral procession filled the gloomy streets of Theed. Somber faces mourned the woman in the casket as much as the unborn child whose profile swelled above the rim. Anguished outrage propelled them forward, vainly hoping to find answers in their beloved senator's wake.

But instead of answers, they received terror. Oppression. Starvation. They should have known Padmé Amidala's death heralded the end of justice as they knew it. In time, it all became commonplace. Soon few remembered life without the Empire measuring their every breath, or Darth Vader's chilling visage on every other holo PSA. Visits to Amidala's memorial grew more infrequent as citizens focused on avoiding all graveyards, temporarily and permanently.

Priorities changed. And life – to some extent or another – marched on.

Except for Ainar's grandchild and its mother.

Sliding back into the present, Ainar pressed both palms into his eye sockets. One breath a time, he'd eventually regain the ability to look his son in the lens-covered eye. But not yet. Not until he could lower his hands without them shaking.

It might be a while.

Good thing they still had over three hours until Tatooine.

"_LOOK at me! I am death, darkness, and destruction incarnate!"_

Up until minutes ago, Ainar had considered those words hyperbole. His skepticism was now forever abolished.

So the question was, if his mood was no longer as skeptical, what _was_ it? Traumatized? Revolted? Self-imploded from shock? He was all those things, and yet none of them. Or more accurately, he was an odd amalgamation of them all, with something else intertwined.

Empathy.

Maybe it was wrong to harbor such feelings. Perhaps he should have stifled them the instant they surged in his breast. Any other being would have done so without compunction.

He didn't care. He'd already broken too many rules to count. What was one more?

"Well?" The silence was becoming too much for Vader. "_Now_ do you regret it?"

Ainar kept his eyes sealed. "The only thing I regret is not being there."

"For what? The first massacre I committed, or the hundredth?" Vader jeered.

"Before everything."

Vader could hardly believe his ears. Was his father really suggesting what he seemed to be?

"You honestly think your presence could have altered my fate?"

To Ainar, it was the most self-evident, painfully obvious fact of all. "Don't you see?"

"Do not delude yourself, father. Destiny cannot be bent or molded on a whim."

"You call Mortis a _whim?_ A mere fluke in the cosmos?"

"No – that was all preordained by destiny. Believing that you could have somehow altered it is the whimsical part."

Ainar dropped his hands and fixed Vader with a reproving stare. "So you're convinced it was all meant to be. Every last part."

_Not entirely… but that is the belief that keeps me sane_, Vader shielded his thoughts.

"Yes."

"So in the two days since we found each other, you've run every hypothetical scenario and deemed that my presence would've had absolutely no effect?"

"I need not," Vader growled.

"Like hell you don't!" Ainar propelled from his chair and paced the cabin. "Take your mother, for instance! She'd have never married Cliegg Lars if we'd remained together. Which means she wouldn't have been on that farm when the raiders came through… no abduction, no death."

_And no murderous rage on the Sand People_…

Vader thrust the thought away, intensely disliking where Ainar's speech was headed.

"She and I would both still be here. We'd be a safe haven for you and… Padmé," Ainar swallowed. "You'd have others to turn to besides Palpatine, who manipulated his way into the hole I left in your life."

"Enough!" roared Vader, snapping an armrest from his chair. "It is a capital offense to slander the Emperor!"

"Yet you do it all the time in your own thoughts," Ainar convicted. "Vader, he exploited and lied to you! Why do you remain loyal to him?"

The answer seared Vader's heart in flames hotter than Mustafar.

_I have no one else._

"You do now."

Those three small words hung between them until Tatooine's parched orb appeared. Hours passed in a matter of minutes, thanks to the vivid imagery filling both their minds. Few visions captivated men like those of what might have been.

For Vader, that involved a series of childhood snapshots with a father always in the background. Tall and solid, steady and faithful through the years… there to guide his first steps, his first engineering project, and his first foray into the realm of young adulthood and love. There, along with Shmi, to celebrate when that love manifested itself in a family.

A family Ainar watched on private reels in his own mind. A family that had been cruelly denied the opportunity to frolic on Varykino's beaches.

A family that, if Ainar had his way, might include a little boy resembling the one he saved on that transport a week ago.

Beneath the cowls of her hood, the mother – Pedna – had kept her features bashfully hidden. Ainar's memory tried to form a composite picture, but his subconscious was too heavily influenced by Padmé to see anything but her.

_Wishful thinking, Ainar_, he shook his head, helping Vader navigate their descent. _She's gone_. _It's just you and Vader. A small, imperfect family, but a family nonetheless_.

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Revisiting the canyons and alleyways of his youth was no less poignant for Vader than Zygerria was for Ainar. Mos Eisley had changed little in eight years, with its rows of slave housing still as dismal-looking as ever. Standing before the hovel he once shared with his mother, Vader said little. He couldn't choose between feeling emancipated from his former life, or even more trapped than when he was Watto's property.

He had, after all, called someone master every day of his life.

Some may have deserved the title more than others, but that was beside the point.

Today's excursion wasn't for bemoaning past or present iniquities, however. It was for Vader to learn what had befallen Watto, longtime owner of his eponymous Junk Shop and swindler of many a dupable Jawa.

He was puzzled and provoked to discover the shop's sign had seen the only change in all of Mos Eisley. Instead of Watto's name in peeling letters, it said Wald. The W was still the same faded calligraphy as before.

Vader walked up to the cluttered counter and found a Rodian bent over a crate of spark plugs.

"Where is the owner of this establishment?"

Standing quickly, the Rodian's multi-faceted eyes blinked, then blinked more fiercely upon recognizing his patron.

"I _am_ the owner," he gulped.

"Where is Watto?"

"H-he bet on the wrong race a while back. Went bankrupt, sold all his assets and moved to Anchorhead. I took over the shop when he left."

Recognition hit Vader. _Wald_… Watto's carefree Rodian assistant he'd befriended as a boy. The imp had certainly grown taller. Then again, so had Vader. And many other things besides…

How unfortunate they couldn't reminisce now. Even if he told Wald the truth, the cowering Rodian would never welcome a trip down memory lane with the Dark Lord, no matter who he claimed to have once been.

And so this portion of their Tatooine tour was at an end.

"It's off to Anchorhead then," Vader proclaimed, striding intently toward their shuttle with Ainar running to keep up yet again.

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	14. Ch 14: Mirages

_And now the situation you've all been waiting for..._

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**Chapter 14 – Mirages **

After a night of fitful sleep, a bleary-eyed sunrise, and a nutritionally bankrupt breakfast in the Mirage Motel lobby, Padmé and company were off to a late departure from Anchorhead. The delay continued when the twins begged for one last spin at the carnival before heading back to the farm. Padmé and Beru relented, but only on the condition that the fun ended at noon.

The first transport of the afternoon docked for departure half an hour later. With shopping bags and children in hand, the women were halfway up the boarding ramp when an emergency erupted.

"Oh no – I left Moopy in our room!" wailed Leia.

"Moopy?" Beru raised a bemused eyebrow.

"Her plush bantha," Padmé explained, sighing. "Leia, I _told_ you to make sure you had everything before we checked out!"

"I'm sorry mommy," the girl's lip quivered. "I can't leave without her! Pleeease can we go back?"

Throwing an apologetic look to the driver, Padmé did her best to earn his sympathy.

"Do you mind holding on just three more minutes?" she implored.

"Sure lady. If the other folks get restless, I'll just tell them a bantha's standing in our way," he rolled his eyes.

She thanked him sheepishly and scurried toward the motel, surprised to see Luke running along with them.

"I mighta left something behind too," he panted. "Aunt Beru's gonna save us a seat."

_She might be saving it for no one, if we have to wait for _both_ of you to search_, Padmé griped to herself.

Thankfully, the cleaning crew hadn't yet reached their suite; it looked exactly as they'd left it, crumpled bed sheets and all. Padmé wasted no time in stripping linens and overturning pillows in a mad race to find the stuffed animal.

"Oh, here's my toothbrush," called Luke from the restroom. "And my hairbrush… and my other sock…"

_He _might_ have left something behind?!_

"Mommy, I found a pretzel on the floor!" Leia exclaimed proudly. It was touching her lips a split second before Padmé snatched it.

"No eating pretzels or anything else off the floor! Please, sweetie, keep looking for Moopy – or we'll be late for the transport!"

Half a minute later, the three most wonderful words rang through the air.

"I found her!"

"Great! Now let's hurry," Padmé ushered them out as quickly as they'd come in. "I think we can still make it…"

Down the hall they flew, practically leaping over staff in their mad dash for the doors. Relief charged Padmé's legs when she saw the transport still hovering outside. Just the sight she wanted to see.

Gravel crunched beneath their feet as Padmé scanned the windows for Beru. Hopefully she'd reserved a spot near the front, since Luke and Leia tended to get nauseous from exhaust fumes.

But the pale, stricken faces she saw seemed to indicate _everyone_ had that problem.

Padmé slowed. Something felt wrong. Not only did all the passengers appear ill, but they were staring in unison at something off to her right. In slow motion, she turned toward the source of their unease…

And her heart stopped.

A hundred yards away stood the scythe of her apocalypse.

_He_ had found her.

How in the name of the Force he'd done it, she couldn't fathom.

A silent bomb exploded between them. The aftermath of its detonation brought many things.

Padmé's ears stopped processing sound.

The midday suns eclipsed themselves.

Vader flashed aggressive gestures to nearby stormtroopers.

Pressed against her window, Beru screamed as her niece and nephew were hauled away in tears. Their mother, meanwhile, offered no resistance. She became a walking statue under arrest.

Ainar watched in bewilderment. Why this woman? Why her children? What had they done to deserve this?

If his long-distance vision had compared with Vader's, he wouldn't have had to ask.

He'd recognize the woman as having stepped straight from the visions Vader shared just hours before. And the children… those _children_ were the _child_ that supposedly perished with her five years ago.

That's what his _eyes_ would have told him, anyway.

And that's what Vader's perceived. But the signal bypassed all logical circuits in his brain and fired a single response.

_IMPOSTOR. _

_Must apprehend… the impostor…_

Beru wept hysterically.

On board the stormtroopers' shuttle, Luke and Leia did the same.

Padmé sat next to them in stoic, fatalistic resignation.

Ainar fought to keep his head from spinning like a top.

And Vader nearly tore a hole in the time-space continuum when he blasted toward Imperial Center, intent on arriving before his prisoners did.

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An angry commotion on the tenth floor of 250 Republica had its tenants peeking from their doors – then almost shearing their noses off when sliding them quickly shut again.

"There will be no further argument!" Vader bellowed.

"You can't contain me here against my will!" shot back Ainar, blocking the door to his suite.

"You do not yet grasp the limits of our relationship. Our expedition is over, and on Imperial Center, _I_ resume full authority!"

"So I'm confined to this apartment for, what, a week? A month?"

"A day or two at the longest."

"And you still won't tell me why."

"It. Is. None. Of. Your. _Business!_" Vader flew into a tirade. "You have food. You have furnishings. You have shelter and running water. Considering where you've been the past 27 years, you should be grateful!"

Staring his son in the eye, Ainar didn't budge. "And you, of all people, should understand the pain of unjust detainment!"

"I haven't time for this posturing!" Vader seethed. "Remain inside until I contact you again!"

"And if I don't?"

"These guards will enforce my orders."

Three shadow troopers suddenly uncloaked next to Vader, deadly blasters poised and ready to fire.

"Be forewarned, they're far less susceptible to mind tricks than most."

Nonplussed, Ainar could only sigh. "So this is what it comes down to. After all we shared, all the progress we made, you're holding me captive. Your own f–" minding the shadow troopers, he rephrased just in time, "–friend. Your only _friend_."

Vader flung his internal conflict aside. "So it must be. For now."

"Fine," Ainar entered the door keycode resentfully. "Whatever it is you need me out of the picture to do, I hope it's worth your while. Unless it involves what I _think_ it does."

"Which is what?" Vader confronted.

"A senseless end for that family you abducted."

"I'll only warn you once, Ainar – do not speculate on affairs that are not your own!"

Ainar stepped into the doorway, arms folded. "I've got nothing better to do while I'm stuck here."

"Then I suggest you take up holonet watching!" Vader spat, wheeling away in fury. He was almost to the turbolift when he heard Ainar mumbling to himself in hollow astonishment.

"What happened at Anchorhead?" he whispered, desperately wishing he could circumvent Vader's mental blockade. _Anakin, I know you're in there. Don't let the last remnant of your soul slip away. Remember, you're no longer alone… _

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But that's exactly what Vader was for the next hour – alone. Alone in 250 Republica's turbolift with only his grim reflection staring back at him from mirrored walls. It might not be his first choice for solitary meditation, but as long as his thumb remained on the door button, it was as private a chamber as any Qabbrat pod.

Perhaps better, even. No one could interrupt him here. He'd purposely left his comlink in the shuttle, leaving Palpatine and Xizor no means of disrupting this much-needed focus session. Caught somewhere between lucidness and delirium, Vader closed his eyes and tried to sift facts from fiction.

Fact number one was that, contrary to his initial instinct, _they_ were not mirages. The Tatooine suns were known to play tricks on the eyes of many travelers, but not today. _They_ were real. The stormtroopers who seized them could attest to that much. And a stark detention cell, perhaps the very one Ainar inhabited, held those three inmates of real flesh and blood.

That they mimicked some connection to _his_ flesh and blood was the monumental issue with which he grappled.

Fact number two: the woman was either Padmé's long-lost twin, or there was a plastic surgeon somewhere who deserved a Galactic Lifetime Achievement Award. Since he knew his late wife had only one older sister, the latter scenario was the only rational conclusion.

Had Xizor commissioned her? Vader had heard rumors of the prince taking an active interest in his modern medicine shareholdings. There was even talk that Xizor's personal aide – whom Vader had yet to meet – wasn't entirely human, despite her appearance. But none of this indicated Xizor sent the impostor. He'd have to know of Padmé's existence and relation to Vader, which only five men in the galaxy did: Palpatine, Obi-Wan, Yoda, Bail Organa, and Owen Lars.

Of those five, the two Jedi masters were the most likely culprits. But why now? Why pool their resources to taunt him after five years? It seemed childish and pointless. Surely they had better use for their time and money than recreating a ghost for him to chase. And recruiting fraternal twins for the job… really? One child actor or actress wasn't enough?

This stunt called for swift, decisive action. Whoever was responsible would pay by having their handiwork destroyed. They'd get the message that Vader appreciated neither their creativity nor sense of humor.

That was the third fact. All three prisoners would die a public and painful death tomorrow at noon.

Keeping Ainar in the dark was more essential than ever. Vader refused to tolerate any interference from his father this time. No bleeding heart or bartering for their lives. No extortion to undermine his resolve. He'd permitted it with the Solo boy, but he'd allow no intervention in this matter.

Fortunate for him, Ainar didn't recognize the woman from afar. That had to be Vader's best stroke of luck in years.

Now if he could just shake this persistent headache…

It had to be a residual effect of breathing Tatooine's atmosphere. It'd flared up the instant they landed. It would fade in time, as always. He certainly wasn't going to let it impede his judgment now. Nor would it keep him from marching down to that detention center and, for the second time that week, obtain some answers.

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"Where are we?"

"I don't like this place!"

"I'm scared!"

"I'm cold!"

"I'm warm!"

"I'm hungry!"

"I'm thirsty!"

"I gotta go to the bathroom!"

"They took Moopy away!"

"It smells in here!"

"Do we hafta sleep here tonight?"

"I wanna go back to Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru's!"

"Please can we go, mom? We'll be extra good!"

"Promise we won't break anything else!"

Padmé's ears rang with her children's fervent pleas. They expected and needed her to pluck words of consolation from thin, stale air.

Feeling dangerously close to a catatonic shutdown, she pulled herself back by pulling Luke and Leia toward her with shaking arms.

"Did we do something wrong, mom?" squeaked Luke, looking ashamed.

_That_ she could answer unequivocally. "No, none of us did."

"Then why are we here?"

Padmé didn't think she could bear to vocalize the answer. Gone were all the benign ways she imagined them discovering the truth. How she wished it was in the comfort of their own home, surrounded by familiar objects and furnishings… not this sterile box that would eat her words and regurgitate them into acid.

What she had to gauge was whether, at five years old, not knowing the reason for being in jail was better or worse than knowing.

She realized she'd be sick with guilt either way.

"Well, honey…" her voice faltered, "…remember that man we saw in the scary black suit?"

Luke and Leia both nodded ardently.

"He looked like that toy Aunt Beru wouldn't let me touch," Luke remarked.

"Y-yes," was all Padmé could reply.

"So who is he?"

"He… he…"

The twins' round, innocent eyes made Padmé want to swallow her tongue.

_I can't do this. But I have to._

"He's… your…"

"HEY, lookit that! I've got neighbors again!"

On cue, Han Solo burst onto the scene, grinning as he was led to his old cell.

"Welcome to the freak show, folks!" he looked them up and down. "Single mom an' two kids? What'd they do, bite Darth Vader's ankles?"

Oblivious that his joke was in extremely bad taste, Han coughed awkwardly when he saw he was the only one laughing.

"Er, sorry. Name's Han Solo."

Padmé tried to remain civil despite her exasperation. Could this boy's timing possibly be any worse?

"I'm Pedna, and these are Luke and Leia," she used her travel pseudonym.

"Pleased to make your 'quaintances. But if ya don't mind me sayin', ya don't really fit in here."

"Well, you don't fit my idea of a typical prisoner, either."

"How's that?"

"You're far too happy."

"You'd be happy too if ya just got back from cell block 7-B!" Han rejoiced. "I swore I saw _snow_ fallin' at one point!"

Shaking her head, Padmé had to admit Han's charisma took the edge off their predicament. His roguish charm and personality were somewhat infectious.

Han stretched both arms over his head and sighed contentedly. "Hope ya stick around longer than the last guy. Well, not that I _want_ ya to… you know what I mean."

"Misery loves company."

"Yeah, somethin' like that."

Padmé wondered if she preferred to know their fate sooner rather than later, or vice versa. Leia, meanwhile, had fixed her dark brown eyes on Han.

"Watcha lookin' at, short stuff?" he smirked.

"Don't call me that!"

"All right, squirt."

"Not _that_ either!"

"Sorry, little Miss Muffet."

Realizing she was getting nowhere, Leia stuck her tongue out at him and flung herself onto the bench, pouting.

"He's stupid," she scowled.

"I think he's cool!" offered Luke.

_What _isn't_ cool to him?_ wondered Padmé. _What a stage he's in_…

"Call me whatever ya like. Guarantee I've been called worse," Han yawned. "Pipsqueak's insult is a bouquet of flowers compared to what ya hear on a pirate ship."

"My name's not pipsqueak, it's _Leia!_"

"Cool it, baby sister! I only give nicknames to the hip kids."

"Is that good?" Leia peered up at her mother for interpretation.

Padmé chuckled. "Yes sweetie, I think it is."

"Oh. Okay then," the girl slouched, reluctantly satisfied.

Padmé felt her neck and shoulders relax_. _At least the twins had a distraction now, someone to take their minds off their impending doom... if that's what really awaited them. Would they simply rot in prison the rest of their lives? Be sentenced to a lifetime of grueling work in Vactooine's mining colonies?

Or worse?

Be forced to live with him?

Spend their days in a perverse state of domestic harmony, as a family grafted back together?

She'd rather die.

Like she almost did when he strangled her on Mustafar five years ago.

Death wasn't something she wished for her children, but if they only understood the alternative, they might not fault her for preferring the easy way out.

_How long… how long before I know what will become of us?_

Within minutes, she heard the answer approaching with heavy footsteps.

Adrenaline displaced every red blood cell in her veins.

As he stood before them, even more horrific than she imagined, Padmé knew she was sitting at the threshold of hell. She clutched the twins so tightly they almost couldn't breathe.

Vader was having trouble breathing as well. Stars, she really did look just like her. Every last feature was exactly how he remembered it, right down to the small mole on her right cheek. _Incredible_… the things they could do with biotechnology these days…

But he'd come here to indict cosmetic surgery, not admire it. He couldn't allow himself to become ensnared in the emotional trap someone had laid for him. No matter how much his heart screamed that it was Padmé in the flesh, he had to keep reminding himself it was all an elaborate trick. The connection he felt was simply a visceral reaction to visual stimuli. Darth Vader would not be so easily duped.

Yet while his intellectual integrity was solid, his sternness wasn't. The incensed, accusatory tirade he'd planned was melting in his mouth. _Blast those eyes… her eyes. I can't rage at them, even if it's not really her._

And so, to his surprise and Padmé's, his first words were far gentler in tone than either expected.

"What business do you have impersonating the late senator Amidala?"

The neurons in Padmé's brain didn't recognize this query. Impersonating? Had he lost his mind?

She stared blankly at him, waiting for another shoe to fall.

"I asked you a question. You will tell me who hired you and why they arranged this hoax."

"There _is_ no hoax," she said in disbelief.

"Do not test the limits of my patience, woman. Answer truthfully and I might spare your life."

"It _is_ the truth!"

Vader struck the force field with his fist. "Do you take me for a fool? Senator Amidala is dead! I watched her funeral with my own eyes!" he roared. "You are obviously a decoy sent to provoke me!"

Padmé felt more detached from reality than ever. Clinging to her, Luke and Leia shot frightened, uncertain glances between their mother and the masked man.

"You may wish I were just a decoy, but I'm not," her voice trembled.

"So, you choose to persist in this scheme. So be it. You have sealed your fate and your children's."

He skulked from view before she could utter a feeble cry of distress. The timbre of his voice grew more sinister as he traveled down the passage.

"Sleep well on the last night of your lives!"

Padmé doubted she'd sleep at all.

So this was how it would all end – with absolute, blind denial. Not even the Force signatures of his own two children had touched him.

That said it all. His soul was beyond salvaging. As if she really expected it not to be.

She could assert her identity until she was blue in the face. It would only further enrage him.

Words were empty and worthless.

Except those spoken by her son next.

"Mom, why was Dad shouting at us?"

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_So technically, a stuffed animal was responsible for this reunion. Funny how that sort of irony keeps finding its way into my stories. (In my ROTS story, the first thing Palpatine & Anakin did as a Sith duo was wash green paint from Anakin's face.) Sometimes I don't even realize what I've written…_

_Oh well. Happy Friday!_

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	15. Ch 15: Forced to See

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**Chapter 15 – Forced to See**

High noon the following day wasn't as spectacular as Vader hoped. Overcast skies spanned the execution arena where a dozen stormtroopers waited listlessly. There were no sharp lines or dramatic shadows to underscore the event. Just hazy, muffled clouds that matched the pavilion on which the prisoners would be shot to death.

Such public executions were rare, reserved for the most notorious enemies of the Empire. What the young mother and her two small children did to earn this distinction, the troopers couldn't begin to guess. But it wasn't their place to question orders. If Lord Vader desired the family to meet a high-profile demise, then that's what would happen.

Even if it made a few of the snipers mildly uncomfortable. _Five-year-old children?_ Vader's ruthlessness truly knew no bounds.

The Emperor's right hand soon appeared in their midst, surveying the platform. His silence implied it met his approval. Now all that remained was for the unfortunate trio to be escorted out and join the party.

How Vader would relish this. Or, how he _wanted_ to relish this. His headache throbbed to new levels; a heavy dose of intravenous analgesics was helping somewhat, but the medicine mixed poorly with his indigestion. If he didn't know any better, he'd suspect he was under a strain of influenza. Yet his ventilator filter membranes blocked all viruses.

_When this is finished, I'll look into seeing that doctor Palpatine's always raving about_, Vader promised himself. _I've had enough of these headaches to last three lifetimes_.

He was determined to enjoy the proceedings despite this. It gave him immense pleasure to believe that somewhere, the miscreant behind this joke was watching. What a blow to the gut it would be when they saw the firing squad perform their duty.

As the three prisoners stepped into the courtyard, however, it was Vader who felt such a blow.

Seeing them in natural light, he was suddenly struck by how much the boy resembled him as a child. The planes of his cheekbones… the curve of his nose and chin… the eyes, haggard from sleepless crying all night, were clear blue within red eyelids.

_Nice touch, Obi-Wan… if you're the one who did this. A lesser man might have fallen for the ruse. But you underestimate your former apprentice – I am above the influence of such superficial effects._

"This is what becomes of those who trifle with the Empire!" he strode before them. "Impostors will not be tolerated! Posing as a deceased citizen is punishable by death!"

Ironic, really. Return from the dead and they'd just send you right back.

Padmé tried to find the humor in it. She couldn't.

Nor could she raise her eyes to meet his petulant glare. He was daring her to plead innocence and make a pitiful spectacle of herself, sending her children into wailing despair. But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. She wouldn't give him anything, least of all his children. In what a few short minutes, she and the twins would find peace, and he'd be left with exactly what he deserved.

Nothing.

Not even one final tear from her.

Force knew she and the twins had spilled enough to fill Varykino's lakes last night.

It would soon be over. Five years of paranoid hiding. Half a decade of living as half a family.

"Move the prisoners into position!"

This was her recompense for defying the Jedi code with him. Unethical choices begot unfortunate ends. If only she'd known just _how_ unfortunate, then the two innocent lives beside her wouldn't be facing death now; she'd have prohibited the very relationship and circumstances that led to them being born.

They wouldn't exist – and they wouldn't be on the verge of doing what they were about to.

"Ready…" Vader raised one arm, "Aim…"

Armor clinked as a dozen blasters lifted into the air. Padmé closed her eyes.

Which meant she didn't see her children strip half of those rifles out of their wielders' hands.

All twelve troopers watched in utter confusion as the weapons clattered at Luke and Leia's feet. The children were equally stunned, staring wide-eyed at their tiny hands. Hands that had just disarmed half of Darth Vader's most lethal execution squadron. The other half didn't quite seem to know what to do. Looking to Vader, they awaited his order to fire... if that was, in fact, still his desired course of action.

It wasn't.

What he desired was someplace to sit down.

And for every living being on Imperial Center to vanish, leaving him alone on that pavilion with… with his…

He almost fell to his knees just trying to think the word.

_Family._

How… why… where…

All his questions self-aborted after the first words.

Was this real? Or were his pain meds causing psychotropic effects?

No – he wasn't the only one to see blasters jump from the firing squad's grip. It had really happened. And that meant those two children were Force-sensitive. _Extremely_ Force-sensitive. To unleash such power at their age… their midichlorian counts had to be almost as high as… his own.

Too many coincidences had accumulated for him to remain in denial any longer.

"EXECUTION CANCELLED!" his voice shook the earth. "Guards, leave us!"

Confounded beyond belief, the troops slowly began dispersing, bumping into each other as they vainly sought a graceful exit.

"Begone AT ONCE!" Vader Force-pushed the lot of them back, clearing a path to the dumbfounded prisoners. Their eyes were rounder than moons. They allowed themselves to be led from the platform in a trance.

"I am taking them to cell block 7-B. We are NOT to be disturbed," Vader declared, half-tripping in his haste to reach the building. "Anyone who disrupts us will die on the spot!"

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In the shadowy recesses of cell block 7-B, the staring contest between Vader and Padmé produced enough tension to heat the entire detention compound. It felt every bit as unnatural as they imagined it would – not that Vader had imagined it was possible in the first place. For what seemed like hours, the two former lovers held their ground, each waiting for the other to make a move, even if only the slightest twitch of a frown.

Yet both remained stubbornly impassive. Maybe that was what led to their downfall – two hard-headed personalities that were too similar to be compatible. Two identical magnetic polarities that repelled each other more than they ever bonded.

Only fate knew how those souls would combust now, with five years of toxic enmity between them.

Apparently, Luke and Leia lacked the patience to await fate's verdict.

"How come you and Daddy are so quiet, Mom?" Leia asked nervously.

"Yeah, say something," Luke encouraged. "We're all gonna be okay, right?"

The deadpan silence continued.

"…Aren't we?" Luke gulped.

Vader finally broke his gaze with Padmé to look at his son, then back at the boy's mother.

"So. You told them who I am."

"No," Padmé's voice sounded foreign in her ears. "They sensed it on their own last night. I merely confirmed it."

"How noble and honest of you," he raised his chin.

Padmé sensed it wasn't meant as a compliment.

"Where was that honesty when you faked your death five years ago?!" he demanded furiously.

"I chose safety over honesty."

"More likely Obi-Wan chose it for you."

"So what if he did? At least _someone_ cared enough to preserve our lives rather than jeopardize them!"

"And thanks to his protection, you're standing here now."

"Yes, because Tatooine was the last place we ever expected you to visit again!" she cried. "What were you doing there? And who was that with you?"

"My affairs stopped being your business when your fake corpse was buried," Vader muttered under his breath. "What _was_ that? A clone of some sort?"

Sighing, Padmé crossed her arms. "Yes, if you must know."

So, there _was_ a decoy involved… just not where and when he expected.

"Which was why the funeral was delayed several days," Vader reasoned. "Commissioning an accelerated clone like that couldn't have been cheap. You must have had other _investors_ besides Obi-Wan."

"If you expect me to betray those involved in the conspiracy, forget it."

"Your closest alliances betray themselves. The Organas were surely involved."

Padmé tried to keep her emotions from flickering in her eyes, but Vader still saw it.

"They will be dealt with in time," he vowed. "What an impressive network of traitors you aligned yourself with."

_He still sees them as traitors…_ Padmé thought dejectedly. _I wonder how he sees me – and the twins. Threats? Inconveniences? _

Prizes to bring before the Emperor?

The Emperor, with whom she shared a home world and many years of political confidence. The thought of facing him as a Sith was almost as nauseating as facing her husband. Although, she _had_ managed to avoid vomiting so far…

"What's to become of us?" she dared to ask.

Vader clasped his hands behind his back. "That is a good question."

Luke glanced at his sister, confirming that she was thinking the same thing he was.

"Can we stay with you?" he piped up.

Padmé nearly fainted. Vader could have been knocked over with a feather.

"You… you _want_ to come live with me?"

"Yeah, why not?"

_Why not_… Vader wanted to laugh at the boy's naiveté. Just how Force-sensitive were Luke and his sister?

Luke…

…and his sister.

He and Padmé had argued constantly about which gender the baby would be, and it turned out they were both right. The irony actually made him smile.

"There are plenty of reasons why not... son," he said with difficulty. "You wouldn't like my house. It's cold and there are no toys."

To say nothing of Xizor's spies watching Vader's palace night and day. He knew they were out there, unseen but not unfelt. More pressing matters kept him from sniffing them out once and for all. They were an irritant he'd learned to live with, but he couldn't risk them spotting his family. The last thing Vader needed was to hand his nemesis more artillery.

So the question remained, what _did_ he need?

Was there any point in keeping them close? In fooling himself into believing there was any hope of true reconciliation? And even if there was, what sort of dysfunctional marriage would resume? Even if they made amends – which would be no small feat – they'd only be frustrated that their emotional reunification couldn't be physically consummated.

"I think we know the _real_ reason you don't want us to stay with you," Leia interrupted his thoughts, blinking self-consciously.

"It's 'cause you're hurt," theorized Luke.

Vader wasn't sure how to respond. "What do you mean, hurt?"

"Mommy said you were hurt really bad, and that's why you gotta wear that suit," replied Leia.

"And you might not want us to see."

"But we won't make fun of you, Daddy. We promise."

"Mom also said it makes you want to hurt other people."

"But we know you won't hurt us."

Neither Vader nor Padmé could believe these words, so boldly and candidly spoken by their children. At least the two adults were on level ground now – each was as speechless as the other.

"How do you know I won't?" Vader asked gently.

The twins exchanged patronizing looks, as if Vader had just posed the dumbest question in the universe.

"'Cause you're our _dad!_" they said in unison.

_Yes, the dad who'd been seconds away from slaughtering you and your mother. What if my connection to you falters again? What am I capable of doing?_

Despite their emphatic faith in him, lodging at his palace was out of the question. There were far too many liabilities at stake – for everyone involved.

"I'm sorry, but you'll need to stay elsewhere. It's safer."

"Funny you should be concerned about our safety _now_," Padmé sulked.

"Do you want the Emperor to discover you or not?" Vader shot back.

"I don't know. Would that be better or worse than being on your leash?"

"I could just as easily let you find out."

"Except you risk as much as I do by having him know I'm alive."

Her incisive appraisal of the matter was not appreciated. Balling his fists to keep from doing something he'd regret, Vader looked away from his wife.

"I'm right, aren't I?" she pressed. "He'd torment and belittle you to no end."

"For someone who's been dead five years, you presume far more knowledge than you have any right to!"

Padmé stared back defiantly. "Obi-Wan has kept me informed from day one. He explained everything – how you sold your soul for some crumbs Palpatine threw your way. A partnership like that can't be based on mutual respect."

Vader still couldn't look at her. "It was all done for you."

"Oh, _I'm_ sorry! I must have forgotten. They say selective amnesia happens to those who've been _choked_ until _unconscious!_"

Luke and Leia slowly stepped back from their parents, leaving them to wrestle with matters obviously over the twins' heads.

"If through some twisted logic you actually expect me to be _grateful_, you're absolutely out of your mind!" Padmé spat. "Or maybe you think my deceit somehow makes us _even_. I don't know. Whatever's going through your mind right now, it's got to be delusional."

Her words smacked him up one side of the head and down the other. How weary he grew of being upbraided by prisoners in these detention cells. When would the humiliation end?

"What do you want from me?" he exhaled at last.

Padmé pondered that for a long moment. "Honestly, I'm not sure. I doubt you're capable of apologizing, and even if you were, it wouldn't be enough."

"What if, hypothetically, it was?"

"It can't ever be. And you know it."

"That's how it is, then? Should I just set you free as if we never crossed paths?"

"Yes," Padmé said curtly. "Let us live our lives like we're tried to these past five years – in pseudo peace."

"I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"I would not survive such a separation. To have my children torn from me within hours of meeting them… what good would come of that?"

"More good than came from suffocating them while they were still in my womb!"

"ALL RIGHT!" Vader finally relented. "I'm sorry! You might spit on my apology, but I'll offer it anyway! I deeply regret harming you and… the children," his heart shattered as he looked at them, clinging to each other in the corner. They were anxious but not overly frightened.

Padmé had been bluffing. His apology _was_ enough. Just hearing Darth Vader, one of the most heartless and calloused men alive, say those two words was more than she ever imagined possible. Even if her skepticism had served as reverse psychology and tricked him into saying it, it was still a miracle. And she'd take it.

The issue of Vader's selfishness, however, was still unresolved. Contrite or not, his motives for keeping them close were indeed selfish. Just as they'd always been. _That_ was a character flaw not likely to change anytime soon.

"Thank you," she replied with quiet dignity. "That's more than I ever expected to hear."

Seating himself next to Luke and Leia on the bench, Vader let them entwine their slender arms in his bulky ones. Their touches were electrifying.

"It does not come easily to me," he stated, astounded by their uninhibited affection.

"I know."

Padmé monitored him with the twins closely. Protective instinct shrieked at her to pry them away, yet their faces made her pause. They were the portrait of contentment and relaxation. Despite the nightmarish appearance of their father, they nestled against him with utmost trust. If their Force connection didn't warn them to keep their distance, was there any danger? If they could see past his imperfections – both internal and external – could she? _Should_ she?

In any case, she sensed no hostile intent on his part. He seemed a bit stiff next to the twins, but that was to be expected. At least he wasn't rushing to bring them before Palpatine as the newest Dark Side inductees. Nor was he hatching a ransom scheme to lure Obi-Wan to his doom. There were plenty of devious plans he was forfeiting to have this simple, quiet unity with his children.

Could this be the same man who'd done nothing but terrorize the galaxy since making his debut five years ago? How was such a thing possible?

Obi-Wan had been so certain, so absolutely convicted that Vader would either destroy or corrupt Luke and Leia without hesitation. Padmé had had no reason to think otherwise. Yet what she now saw before her abolished that theory.

Theories were, after all, only able to be _dis_proven. That was the default rule.

Maybe not everything was as black and white as she'd grown to believe.

Maybe, in just the right light, parts of Vader's suit might actually appear gray.

The implications struck down everything she'd been indoctrinated to believe. Yet seeing _was_ believing.

Padmé felt her wrath slowly ebb. She remained cautious, but markedly less paranoid than before.

"I'll ask again – what's to become of us?"

Vader's heart fell. "I truly don't know. As I said, you can't stay at my palace. Your presence would be detected within days."

"Then where can we go, if you won't let us return home?"

"Home is a subjective place," Vader philosophized. "For a time, you considered _this_ planet home."

"Yes, but it's been a while. It's been a while since… a lot of things," Padmé blushed despite herself.

"Not all of which need remain buried in the past," he stood slowly, careful not to appear confrontational. "Some could return, if only given the chance."

She knew it would come to this – him extending an invitation for them to cohabit. The prospect still made her feel ill.

"I don't know what I'm prepared for beyond letting you touch Luke and Leia," she chose her words carefully. "Besides, if we can't stay at your palace, then where…"

Inspiration struck Vader just then. Of course… how could he have overlooked such an obvious solution?

"My estate on the Great Western Sea. It's much more secluded than the palace district."

"Oh," Padmé was. "I didn't know you owned that."

"I seldom use it, but it's much more hospitable than my palace."

"And you would stay with us there?"

"To some extent. My schedule varies from week to week, but I could rearrange priorities."

"It's on the water?" Leia's eyes sparkled dreamily.

"With a beach?" asked Luke.

"Yes, and it would be all yours," Vader enticed them. "You don't have to share it with anyone else."

The twins hopped excitedly, tugging at Padmé.

"Wow! Our very own beach! Please can we go, Mom?"

She didn't have much of a choice. If she said no, they'd resent her – until Vader sent them there anyway. Her permission was symbolic at best.

"If it would make you happy, then yes," she pressed her lips.

"Wahoo!"

"Thanks Mom!"

"I can't wait to go swimming!"

"Betcha I can build a sandcastle twice as high as yours!"

"No way, you stink at sandcastles!"

"Well, _you_ still need floaties to swim good!"

"Nuh-uh, not anymore!"

"Oh yeah? Prove it!"

"I will!"

Their bickering made both parents feel somewhat awkward at first, but soon they were both smirking despite themselves. Padmé couldn't see Vader's mischievous smile, but he saw a pair of faint dimples appear on her cheeks.

"Stop it, you two," Padmé intervened. "Neither of you will get to swim if you keep this up."

Vader couldn't help but find the scene amusing. The light-hearted moment ended, however, when his comlink suddenly buzzed to life – revealing none other than Palpatine's scowling jowls.

Moving on swift instinct, Vader nearly dropped the transmitter. Hopefully he'd turned quickly enough to keep the Emperor from spotting the others. Padmé, Luke and Leia huddled out of sight behind Vader's cape.

"Vader! Slacking about again, I presume?" spat Palpatine.

"No, my master," Vader tried to sound convincing. "Not at all."

"Then what is so important that you missed yet another meeting with Xizor and myself?"

"I have been reviewing the 500 Republica surveillance footage," improvised Vader. "I lost track of time."

"You should have finished with that by now! Why has it taken so long?"

"The playback stalls quite often. The data discs are of inferior quality."

"Then you will not make the mistake of purchasing from that supplier again, will you?"

"No, my master."

Marginally satisfied, Palpatine wrinkled his nose. "Fortunately for you, Xizor had a cancellation this afternoon. Arrive at once and we will discuss matters."

Vader resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder. "Yes master. I will be there shortly."

"You had _better_ be!" Palpatine severed the transmission.

Still a little shaken by the close call, Vader turned to his family.

"I must go. Wait here – I will return as soon as circumstances permit."

Padmé was no less shaken. "When will that be?"

"Two or three hours, perhaps longer."

"What about the guards?"

"They've been ordered to treat this cellblock as quarantine. No one will bother you."

Just as he stepped into the corridor, a ventilation fan started blasting arctic air onto their heads.

"We'll freeze to death!" Padmé's teeth chattered.

Vader eyed the troublesome vent and turned on his heel.

"I'll see to it you do not."

And he did. Opening the climate control breaker on his way out, he fixed in three minutes what a legion of Imperial engineers couldn't in months. He lingered just long enough to confirm the system was blowing temperate air. Then it was off to the Imperial Palace – one of his least favorite places on a good day, and absolutely the last place he wanted to be right now.

But he had no choice. His tardiness and missed obligations were damaging his good standing with the Emperor. Whether that was even something he still wanted to maintain, he'd have to decide later. For now, it was in his best interest to jump through the usual hoops, even if it meant leaving his family alone for an afternoon.

Part of him worried they might not be there when he returned. But that fear vanished as he felt his headache dissipate at last.

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_Padmé's barbs were just what Vader had coming, IMO. Disregard her ROTS line of "There's still good in him" – I always thought that was a bit TOO forgiving. I'd be way pissed if my husband choked me, so I infused some of my tenacity into the script._

_To those who feared I'd actually let something tragic happen in this story, you obviously don't know me very well yet. :)_

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	16. Ch 16: Chessboard

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**Chapter 16 – Chessboard**

Palpatine and Xizor's body language was all too easy to interpret. Standing in the shadows of their usual meeting chamber, the disgruntled pair stood with arms crossed, irritation oozing from them as Vader walked in.

"I'm starting to wonder what value you bring to this alliance of ours," Xizor greeted.

"I've wondered the same about you from day one," Vader retorted, not missing a beat.

"At least I am punctual. I don't devalue our Emperor's time."

"Does berating me make good use of that time, Prince?"

Palpatine shuffled forward. "We'd both like to know what made you think you could take unscheduled leave on Tatooine yesterday, and miss a crucial meeting!"

"My apologies, master, I can expl–"

"Imagine my surprise when I tried contacting you and saw your shuttle beacon was in the Outer Rim! And then my comlink request went unanswered! I want answers, Vader, and I want them _now!_"

"I was investigating a potential Jedi fugitive. My sources advised me to avoid all communications, as the fugitive was said to have a vast underground spy network."

"Did you slay him?"

"Yes," Vader lied smoothly. "The mission was quite productive." _True in and of itself_, Vader justified.

"Well, at least your absence served _some_ useful purpose," the Emperor snarled. "I dislike being left in the dark. Try to limit the number of covert sieges you undertake – understood?"

"I will do my best, master."

"Hmph." Palpatine scuffled over to the holo viewing console. "Tell me, did you spot anything of significance on the 500 Republica footage?"

Vader's neck grew warm from having to keep digging his hole of lies deeper.

"No. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Really? How disappointing. I was so sure Viceroy Organa would make an appearance."

"I saw no sign of him." Again, technically true.

"Very strange," Palpatine rubbed his chin. "Less than two weeks until his jubilee celebration, and he hasn't made use of his Imperial Center apartment."

"He must be coordinating everything from Alderaan."

"Perhaps. But you _do_ remember what the man looks like, don't you?"

Before Vader could respond, Palpatine switched on the holo viewer. An image of five politicians filled the air, all dressed in rich finery. In the center stood Bail, and to his immediate right was…

Padmé. Wearing one of the shapeless, tent-like gowns she'd used to conceal her pregnancy.

"This was taken at the Viceroy's jubilee celebration five years ago," Palpatine explained for Xizor's benefit. "Organa has remained unchanged since then. Not true of all his colleagues, right, Vader?"

The question was meant to sting, to inflame the scars on Vader's heart as Palpatine was so fond of doing. Xizor observed the two Sith closely, trying to piece together the holo image, Vader's discomfort, and Palpatine's sadistic grin.

Palpatine grinned because he misread Vader's sullen silence. It was not shame and anguish that made Vader bite his tongue, but calculated fury. He'd come here planning to steel himself against his master's deception, but being confronted with it like this… he couldn't even look at the aged Sith. He might never look at him the same way again – knowing he'd obfuscated the truth about Padmé's death, and kept using it as a tool to reprimand Vader. It was sick.

Not that Vader should have expected any different from the man who'd taught him all the tricks of the Dark Side trade. Ruthless emotional manipulation was just one among many.

Still grinning, Palpatine zoomed the image onto Bail and Padmé's faces.

"I am optimistic you may still find something. You haven't yet finished screening the footage, correct?"

"I have not."

"Remember, we need just one piece of incriminating evidence to arrest Organa."

How Vader wished he could share that piece: Bail's funding of Padmé's funeral clone. But he wasn't prepared to open that Pandora's Box yet. Having Xizor see Padmé's photo pushed his comfort levels as it was.

"What sort of evidence are you looking for?" Xizor inquired, examining the Viceroy's goateed face.

"Clandestine meetings with anyone on the Imperial watch-list. Purchasing large quantities of arms or missiles. Anything that might be considered prelude to a galactic civil war," Palpatine explained.

"Civil war? Are you joking?" huffed Xizor.

"There have been stirrings for some time now in the Senate… which is why I intend to dissolve it in the near future."

"That's a bit extreme, don't you think?"

"You underestimate the tenacity of these would-be rebels," Vader warned.

"But surely the threat decreases with each Jedi you assassinate."

"Not as much as you think. If enough senators rally together, they could prove formidable."

Xizor pondered this, frowning. "I have allies in the Senate. Several, actually."

"Then I advise you to seek new connections," Palpatine replied. "I haven't spent the past five years draining the Senate's power for nothing!"

"Very well, but replacing my connections will take time."

"Then begin the process now. The time of total Sith dominion is fast approaching!" the Emperor bared his rotten teeth. "If all proceeds according to my precognition, the Death Star will rise just as the Senate falls! The glorious dawn of a new, everlasting era!"

Xizor crossed his arms. "And what will my place be in this 'total Sith dominion?'"

"A valued resource, just as you are now!" Palpatine quickly assured him. "We won't cast aside the man who sponsored the Death Star so generously!"

"I should hope not."

"Not at all. In fact, I plan to have your likeness added to the statues at the Imperial Force Memorial."

Vader cocked his head in disbelief. "Am _I_ to have a monument as well?"

"If your meeting attendance becomes more reliable, I'll consider it," Palpatine shot him a look.

_This playing favorites game is growing insufferably old_, Vader clenched his fists.

"While we're on the subject, I have some other updates for the Memorial to run past you, Xizor. A new solarium, renovations to the Darth Plagueis wing, some retouching on the Sith alchemy exhibit. Does that sound like something you could manage?"

"I'd be honored to, your Majesty. You know I have a penchant for architecture and design."

"I heard you held an integral role with the new biomedical center on Rakata Prime."

"Yes, artistically as well as financially," Xizor verified smugly.

Palpatine greedily rubbed his hands together. "Just the sort of creative dynamism I'm looking for!"

"But can we trust one outside our traditions to uphold our vision?" challenged Vader.

"Xizor has become well acquainted with that vision over the years, I believe."

"Better acquainted than I?"

"Acquainted _enough!_ I have to choose one who's more likely to follow through from beginning to end, not disappear for hours or days at a time!"

"Fine," Vader consented, seeing the argument just kept looping back to that. "Give him the renovation project."

Palpatine switched the holo image to one of the Death Star's skeleton. "With that settled, let's move on to larger concerns. Xizor, has the transfer of funds come through from your syndicate?"

"The second installment arrived just two hours ago."

"Excellent. Now Vader, how does this schematic look to you?" Palpatine enlarged a section of the diagram.

Vader took a closer look. "Those conduits will rupture so close to that reactor."

"Not if they're lined with cortosis ore," suggested Xizor.

"Cortosis mining is illegal."

"In most systems, yes. But not on Helska."

Palpatine raised an intrigued eyebrow. "You wouldn't happen to own cortosis-rich land on Helska, would you Xizor?"

"Indeed. Black Sun controls one-third of Helska's mining operations."

"How fortuitous!" Palpatine threw his hands in the air. "And I bet you'll procure it at a discount, too!"

Xizor bowed graciously. "Of course, your highness."

"Don't praise him too highly yet, master," Vader warned.

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Because he'll never get through the trade route station with that cargo."

"Is that so?" Palpatine pursed his lips, displeased.

Looking bored, Xizor rolled his eyes. "Vader implies I'll be _stopping_ at that station."

"Quite the bravado, Prince!" scoffed Vader. "Agents will be on your tail the second you make a run for it!"

"You obviously haven't seen my ship, the Virago," Xizor smirked.

"That glorified shuttle? I've seen it."

"Then you know I'll easily leave those trade agents in the dust."

"Not carrying two tons of dense ore, you won't."

"Says the man who clearly doesn't know the Virago's prowess. Besides, couldn't you just alert the agents to let me pass?"

"Perhaps, but if they don't chase you, pirates will. They're always lurking around trade stations, eavesdropping on subspace channels."

"I've outrun my share of pirates. They're no threat."

Tired of Xizor's stubbornness, Vader sighed. "We can argue opinions all day, or we can develop a more secure action plan."

"Do you have one in mind, Vader?" Palpatine's curiosity was piqued.

"I do," Vader took a deep breath before playing his most valuable card. "It involves making use of a portal at the edge of the galaxy, near Helska."

Neither Palpatine nor Xizor knew what to do with their facial muscles. Had they actually heard Darth Vader say something so outlandish?

"A… portal?" Palpatine repeated slowly.

"Yes. I have a firsthand account that it exists."

"From whom?"

Vader quickly invented another lie. "The Jedi I slew on Tatooine."

"How did he know of this while I did not?"

"He discovered it while seeking refuge from Order 66."

Palpatine's lips puckered. "As I've said, I dislike being in the dark. Good thing you killed him before he spread the knowledge any further."

"It was in his best interest to keep his hiding place a secret. Not that it saved him in the end."

Xizor chimed in. "That's what you plan to use it as, a hiding place?"

"Precisely. Just until the authorities declare you lost. Another victim of the hyperspace disturbance."

Xizor slit his eyes, weighing this option. "Not an entirely worthless idea – assuming the portal actually exists."

"Have you verified its location, Vader?" asked Palpatine.

"Not yet."

"What's keeping you?"

_I've been occupied with… other things lately…_

"Well, Vader?" Palpatine goaded. "You bring me fairytales of a portal without any proof?"

Lost in bittersweet reflections of the past few days, Vader offered no defense.

"Xizor, you will go investigate this portal," commanded Palpatine.

"As you wish."

"Vader, if this portal is real, it will go a long way toward redeeming you."

Vader nodded. "It is real. Soon all doubt will be abolished."

The Emperor's anticipation was starting to get the better of him. "Just imagine the profits! We'll set up a toll gate and charge thrill-seekers from all over the galaxy!"

"Aren't we getting a little ahead of ourselves? For all we know, it could be just a big patch of fog," Xizor added cynically.

"Until we learn one way or the other, I'll keep an optimistic outlook," Palpatine cackled.

"All right," Xizor eyed the Sith shrewdly. "Let's talk optimistically, then. Will we split the profit in thirds?"

Palpatine gave Vader a pensive glance. "Not necessarily. Vader deserves the lion's share, since he brought it to our attention."

"But you're sending _me_ to confirm its existence."

"A task even a child could do," Vader denounced.

"Then what does it signify that _you_ were not handed the mission?"

"Silence!" Palpatine flicked his wrist. "Stop bickering or I'll keep all the profits for myself!"

Both Xizor and Vader's pride took a hit from being reprimanded like children. The two glared daggers at each other.

"One thing at a time, gentlemen, one thing at a time," Palpatine doddered back to the holo viewer. "Find the portal, bring in customers, and _then_ we can negotiate shareholdings."

A map of the Dalonbian sector appeared and Palpatine magnified the Helska quadrant.

"Now, show me where this portal lies," he instructed Vader.

"Directly north of Helska, or so I was told."

"In this region?" Xizor pointed.

"Approximately. I'd search a few parsecs to either side to cover any margin of error."

"How long will this take you, Xizor?" asked Palpatine.

"Half a day's travel to Helska, two or three days of searching, then back to Imperial Center…" the prince thought out loud. "If I leave today, I should be back by the end of the week."

"Good. Let us know your findings the moment you return."

"I will," Xizor shot Vader a loaded glance.

Returning the holo image to the Death Star blueprints, Palpatine grinned with excessive, greedy pleasure.

"And now, the proclamation we've all been waiting for!" the wrinkled Sith crowed. "Death Star construction will officially begin tomorrow at dawn!"

"Magnificent!" Xizor responded with deep pride.

An awkward lull followed.

"Have you no comment, Vader?" Palpatine turned to his protégé. "After all these years of strategizing and planning?"

Vaguely aware of being spoken to, Vader's mind was several hundred miles away… on the shores of the Great Western Sea, to be exact.

"That is… great news," he stuttered. "Truly great news."

"Far less gusto than seems appropriate," Palpatine criticized. "Are you not feeling well?"

"I am distracted by… other fugitive reports I received this morning," Vader was losing count of his deceit tally.

"Oh, I see. Then don't let us detain you. By all means, _go!_" Palpatine practically pushed him out the door. "If you have leads, follow them! Hunt them down and make them all wish they'd never been born!"

Vader allowed himself to be led toward the exit, slightly baffled. Was he imagining things, or did Palpatine seem overly eager to dismiss him?

"Go, hunt, kill! Wipe out the last sorry remnants of the Jedi!" Palpatine enthused.

Vader thought better of responding suspiciously. _Strange or not, this is a welcome gift. I can bring them to the retreat sooner than expected._

"Very well, I will begin the pursuit again," he complied. "And I will stay in contact weekly."

"Good, we'll keep you apprised of the Death Star's progress."

Throwing one last doubtful glance over his shoulder, Vader was gone. He could hardly believe his good fortune – if that's what it really was. But it was hard to entertain a pessimistic view of Palpatine's dismissal when it meant seeing his family again already. He should be rejoicing, not giving heed to the uneasy knot in his stomach. Shouldn't he?

The conversation that ensued between Palpatine and Xizor didn't support that line of thinking.

"Ah, he's gone," Palpatine said with relish. "What I'm about to say is for your ears only."

"Oh?" Xizor replied coolly.

Palpatine hunched forward and lowered his voice. "I prefer to let you and Vader resolve your own differences, but I think we can both agree the status quo is off."

"As in Vader's erratic behavior?"

"He is not himself. I strongly suspect he is hiding something from me."

Music to Xizor's ears. "You don't say."

"I am almost certain of it. But I haven't the time to look into the issue. You, however, have a spy network in place, correct?"

Xizor nodded, pleased that the Black Sun's reputation continued to precede it.

"So you already keep an eye on him… I need you to keep an even _better_ eye on him," Palpatine exhorted.

"Gladly, your majesty. But there are few, if any, areas to improve upon. I have two hundred cameras aimed at Vader's palace alone."

"Whatever he's hiding won't be found there."

"Then where would you have me look? I can't follow him everywhere he goes."

"No. No, you cannot, especially with your imminent portal mission. But you have an assistant, do you not?"

"As Vigo of the Black Sun, I have many assistants."

"Don't play coy, Prince – you know which one I'm referring to."

Xizor bristled slightly. This was no small favor being asked of him.

"She is my most valuable resource," the prince hesitated. "I am not in the habit of hiring her out for others' gain."

"Ah, but you would gain from this as well, Xizor!"

"Do tell."

"Have her track Vader from sunrise to sunset the next two weeks, and his share in the Death Star is yours!"

Amazement replaced Xizor's reluctance. "Are you serious?"

"Very," Palpatine read the Falleen's greedy expression with pleasure. "I've been considering this for some time now. Vader's capriciousness notwithstanding, it's a very efficient arrangement: one apprentice for business, one for punishment and enforcement. I should have implemented it sooner."

"Most efficient, indeed. I admire your reasoning."

"I thought you might. Do we have a deal?"

Xizor needed no time to deliberate. "Absolutely."

"Splendid. Make haste and begin your searches! I sense great revelations lie on the horizon!"

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Running an organization such as the Black Sun was, more often than not, an ugly affair. The sights Xizor had seen could fuel a normal man's nightmares for years. But Xizor prided himself on being anything but normal. From his immeasurable wealth and sublime sense of aesthetics, to his above-average height and intellect, he was a man set apart. And if his ostentatious palace didn't prove it, the figure sitting inside it did.

She was seated at his operations desk, head bent in concentration with blond hair spilling forward. Xizor approached from behind, stepping softly even though he knew she could hear him. He stalled halfway across the gray carpet and ogled her soft, voluptuous lines.

_Worth every penny_, he sighed with deep satisfaction.

As if she'd heard his thoughts, she set down her datapad and swiveled around.

"You're back already?" her full, red lips greeted. "How did it go?"

"Well. _Very_ well," Xizor came nonchalantly toward her.

"Did Vader actually make an appearance?"

"Yes, believe it or not."

"It's about time! How many meetings has he missed now?"

"I've lost count," Xizor trailed a finger under her chin. "But his days of inconveniencing us will soon be over."

Curiosity gleamed in her pale blue eyes as she stood. "I'm listening."

"The seeds of distrust are growing between him and the Emperor."

"My, my! Dissension among the Sith. I never thought I'd see the day."

"The time of reckoning is at hand, Guri. At last we'll rise to unmitigated power!"

She smirked condescendingly. "Please, this isn't about power. It never was. You're after personal vindication."

"And you've sworn to help me achieve that goal at the temporary expense of other ones," Xizor reminded her.

Letting him run his hands through her thick golden tresses, Guri stared impassively. "What do you need me to do?"

"Simple surveillance, nothing more. A boring task compared to your usual assassinations."

"So I'm only to monitor him, not kill him?"

Xizor laughed mirthlessly. "Correct, not that you'd stand a chance of killing him anyway."

"We can't really be sure, if I'm never given the chance," she pursed her lips.

"Some other time, perhaps. For now, just follow him wherever he goes, and send me activity reports at the end of each day."

"All right," Guri accepted. "But why send me? Isn't this the espionage job _you've_ dreamed of?"

"Trust me, I'd do it myself if something else didn't take precedence," Xizor began packing datapads and weapons in a small travel case. "I have my own assignment to complete. I'll return within a few days."

"You're taking the Virago?"

"Yes. I'll be in no danger, though I may be out of contact intermittently due to subspace interference."

"Then I will submit my reports on the log channel until I hear from you again."

Xizor smiled, drawing closer to her once more, his face hovering an inch from hers. "Perfect. You know I could never trust another as I do you, my brilliant Guri."

"So you have told me on numerous occasions," she didn't blink.

"I will miss you," he grazed his lips against her cheek. "Stay smart and safe."

"You too."

Their kiss was short but intense, and Xizor was loath to release her. But they had to part ways for causes worthier than any he'd come across in his 120 years. Fate would not have handed them this opportunity without intending to bring it to full, glorious fruition.

The only difficult part would be judging which part proved most profitable: the portal, the Death Star, or Vader's fall from grace.

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_Not sure of Xizor's exact age… Wookieepedia just said he was over 100 years old._

_When Palpatine mentions adding a new solarium to the Memorial, I think of the Seinfeld episode where George tries to impress Susan's parents by describing the layout of his imaginary house in the Hamptons. And they're so amazed when they say: "ANOTHER solarium?!"_  
_And so my underhanded Palpatine humor continues…_

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	17. Ch 17: Fathers & Sons

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**Chapter 17 – Fathers & Sons**

Vader's path back to the detention center had taken a detour. He'd left the meeting intent on heading straight for his family, yet his zeal deteriorated along the way. Without quite knowing how, he ambled his way out of the palace district and into the stately neighborhood of 250 Republica.

He drew to a stop in front of Ainar's building and laughed to himself. Naturally he'd end up at this spot. There were more than a few loose ends to tie up here. So many, he didn't even know where to begin.

Releasing his father from house arrest was the first order of business, but after that, what? Casually mention that his family had been resurrected from the dead, and they were all about to embark on some path to messy reconciliation? It sounded as ludicrous in his head as it would spoken aloud. He could only imagine Ainar's reaction to the news. A reaction he was more than justified in having.

_What in the name of the Force are you thinking? Reunification? Why? So you can have another shot at destroying them all? Once wasn't enough?_

Soon the words stopped being Ainar's and became Vader's own self-loathing doubts. Though his headache was gone, his skull felt heavier than lead. His helmet scraped against a concrete wall as he leaned against it for support.

So incredibly foolish. So impulsive and overzealous, thinking for one minute this could ever work. The fantasy was doomed long before it danced in his demented mind. It'd been doomed since five years ago, when the showdown on Mustafar forever shattered the illusion that love and power could coexist. Ironic, how the Jedi were right to forbid marriage. Ironic too was the fact that despite all their wisdom, they'd been blind up until the last.

For his part, Vader had shared in that blindness. But no more. His eyes were fully open now, and he saw everything with harsh clarity. He saw himself clearest of all. And what he saw was not something Padmé or the twins should ever have to see. They're endured enough. The abuse ended here and now.

Where he'd send them, he didn't yet know. Did it matter? If they returned to Naboo or took up residence just blocks from his palace, would he be able to breathe either way? Could he function on a daily basis knowing they were living and growing as a family without him?

Even if they lived in the distant galaxy Ainar had returned from, would Vader ever again enjoy a single night's rest?

He'd have to adapt. Or he'd have to trick his heart and mind into believing they were dead all over again. Whatever it took to make the separation halfway bearable.

At least he still had Ainar. Against all odds, the man hadn't recoiled from his son's sordid past. Vader still had difficulty believing it. Yet he sensed Ainar's presence several floors above, pacing anxiously, fixated on the state of Vader's soul. His deep concern was palpable even from a distance.

Vader closed that distance in under a minute, exiting the turbolift and barging into Ainar's suite without knocking first. He found his father gazing out the bay window.

"You're back."

"Quite obviously," Vader returned with equal curtness.

Ainar kept his back turned, spine and shoulders tense. "Your _errands_ are done, then?"

"Yes."

"How productive of you. It took less than 24 hours."

"There is much contempt in your voice," Vader closed the gap between them in a few steps.

"Did you expect me to congratulate you? Am I being impolite?"

Standing next to Ainar with arms crossed, Vader kept his temper in check.

"Be careful what you assume, father."

Ainar slid his eyes sideways. "Don't patronize me! You don't lock a man in his own apartment for good reasons!"

Vader offered no rebuttal.

"So, it's over. Taken care of. That family who posed such a massive threat to the Empire is gone. An act of valor that will go down in history," Ainar bared his teeth in scorn. "At least tell me who they were. I'm dying to know how they earned such hatred from Darth Vader."

Spiteful or not, that was as good an invitation as Vader would get. It was now or never.

"They are… my family."

Ainar couldn't move. The shock of what he'd just heard made his joints lock in place.

A cascade of memories flashed before him – the scene at Anchorhead, the visions of Vader's past, and… the woman he'd encountered on the transport ship a week ago. Everything fell into astounding place.

_Stars… that was my grandson I saved on the transport… _

The realization nearly made Ainar collapse.

"But… I thought Padmé died?" he wheezed, still stunned.

"You and I both. She faked her death using a Kaminoan body clone in her funeral."

A rush of dizziness came over Ainar as he tried to grasp the immense impact of this news. Padmé was _alive?_ Along with not just one child, but two? How in the universe was such a boon of good fortune possible? But more importantly, why in the world was Vader at 250 Republica instead of with his newly-recovered family?

Ainar was afraid to ask why. But he had to.

"Y-you used present tense. They _are_. Not they _were_. Does that mean… are they…"

Vader hung his head, pained by what he'd nearly done. "Fear not. They are very much alive."

Relief poured out of Ainar's chest. "Thank the Force."

_Yes, that's exactly what you should thank_, thought Vader grimly. _If Luke and Leia hadn't sloppily used it to disarm the execution squad… _he couldn't bring himself to imagine the rest.

"So where are they? Why didn't you bring them here to meet me?" Ainar turned to his son excitedly. "Well, we've already met, technically. I can't wait to see their faces when they recognize me. The Force certainly works in mysterious ways," he shook his head with a smile.

"I regret to inform you that you will never see them again."

Ainar reeled from the mental whiplash Vader was causing. "_What?_ Why not?"

"I think it best if they remain detached from my paradigm," Vader sighed, turning away. "Letting you see them would complicate that."

"Tell me you're joking!" Ainar's eyes bulged. "What gives you the right to keep me from my own grandchildren?"

"They are my children first, your grandchildren second," Vader held firm.

"What a lovely, legalistic view of family you have!"

"I am not doing this to be unfair. I am doing it to keep them safe."

Ainar was completely beside himself. "Oh! I'm unsafe to be around! I didn't know!"

"You misunderstand –"

"I understand perfectly! Darth Vader has misgivings about _my_ character. I shouldn't be allowed within a hundred feet of anyone's child!"

"This isn't about you!" Vader shouted back. "Stop playing the martyr for one second and let me explain!"

Although still livid, Ainar clamped his jaw shut and awaited Vader's excuse.

"After what you saw during our flight to Tatooine, you think _you're_ the one who threatens their safety?"

Ainar's face went flat as embarrassment tinged his cheeks. "Oh. I'm sorry, I should have realized…"

"When will you stop apologizing to me? I neither want nor deserve your condolences."

"You'll get them anyway. I shouldn't let my pride make me jump to conclusions like that."

Vader smirked wanly. "Disputes like this prove we are indeed father and son."

Ainar blinked, slightly taken aback by Vader's observation. Did he mean their talent for arguing, or the short tempers that ignited those arguments? It was most likely both, Ainar realized with consternation.

Clearing his throat, he tried to collect his thoughts. "So you've decided to just toss them back in the sea?"

"Crudely put, yes."

"Did you offer them any choice in the matter?"

"There is no need. They will be relieved by it." _At least Padmé will be. The twins are another matter…_

Ainar caught the glitch in Vader's thoughts. "Not all of them."

"No," Vader conceded. "I suspect the children may be disappointed."

"Listen to yourself: 'the children.' You're trying to distance yourself from them. But I feel the turmoil it's causing you."

"They are too young to know what's good for them."

"What are their names?"

Vader lost his train of thought. "What?"

"I want to know their names."

Vader knew Ainar wouldn't stop badgering him until he answered.

"Luke and Leia."

"Good names. What a pity their father struggles to say them."

"I do not," Vader looked away.

"Remember who you're talking to, son. I can sense your emotions as if they were my own."

"You also saw my past as clearly as if you were there!"

"Yes, but it bears repeating that it'd have been different if I actually _had_ been there."

"So you keep saying," Vader huffed. "Nothing can change what was!"

"You're right, nothing can. But there's no hope for the future if we don't analyze the past."

"What's left to analyze?"

"Plenty," Ainar replied thoughtfully. "Especially if we compare the past with the present."

"Explain."

"Let's review what's happened. You meet me. You sentence me to death. You change your mind."

Vader folded his arms, ambivalent.

"Then you meet Han. You sentence _him_ to death. You change your mind."

"That was only because –"

"Let me finish. Lastly, you find your family. You have every intention of executing them. And then, lo and behold, you change your mind."

Vader shuddered at the reminder. "But I was so close to going through with it..."

"I know, I could tell," Ainar placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "The point is you've withdrawn your malice three times in as many days."

"You're one of those 'glass-half-full' people," Vader grunted.

"I have good reason to be. The Darth Vader of the past five years would not have shown leniency once, much less three times."

That same Darth Vader would have taken this as an insult, too, instead of earnest encouragement. But while he wasn't angered by Ainar's words, Vader remained cautious. His father was likely viewing things through rose-tinted lenses due to his quest to find good in Vader.

"You forget that I did not _choose_ mercy. In each instance, outside factors forced my hand."

"Have you ever let 'outside factors' influence you like that before?"

Vader was caught off-guard by the question. "I… I don't know… that is, I think…"

"You never have. Admit it."

Vader stopped racking his memory and simply stared at his father.

"Your past is full of selfish disregard for everyone else. Not even the 'outside factor' of your unborn children could keep you from choking their mother. Yet now you've spared their lives _and_ that of two other men, one of whom was a total stranger to you. Doesn't that strike you as unusual?"

Slowly, guardedly, Vader let this sink in. Ainar was right, of course. Selfish disregard had been a way of life for him since leaving his mother. Clinging to forbidden attachments, marrying against the Jedi code, letting his pride sabotage that marriage… the root cause had always been selfishness, pure and simple. No matter what anyone else said, he chose to follow his own defective compass, even when it became obvious that it was broken.

And now, without warning, that compass was inexplicably correcting itself. For the first time in Vader's conscious memory, he was actually letting external sources align it. It was uncomfortable, like having a broken bone reset after healing crookedly. But he was cooperating. He was letting it happen. And this was one instance where passiveness was as powerful as action.

"Whether you see it or not, you're changing," Ainar spoke again. "More than you realize, if it's drastic enough for me to notice already."

Vader felt warm and cold at the same time. "I cannot refute what you have said."

"Don't try to. Just keep listening," urged Ainar. "Your selfishness is waning by the hour. Your first instinct was to keep Padmé, Luke and Leia for yourself. To grasp them tightly and not let them go."

Vader nodded.

"But then you reconsidered. You actually thought about their well-being instead of your own desires."

"I had to. They don't deserve to live with a monster."

"A monster does not put others' interests before his own."

"Don't be so generous. Even if a monster trims his claws, he still is what he is."

"Assuming he really was a monster to begin with."

"How can there be any question? After all you've seen, you're still not convinced?!"

"I'm not the one who's fooling himself here," Ainar replied calmly. "You admit you're changing, but you say a monster _can't_ change. You seem rather confused."

Releasing immense frustration, Vader crushed the neck of a nearby lamp with one hand.

"I did not come here to play mind games! I came to set you free from confinement, and to inform you that I will do the same for… the others."

"Still having trouble saying their names, I see."

"That is inconsequential."

"Oh, but it's not. It's a symptom of deep shame and regret. Saying their names reminds you of all the pain you've caused them."

_Damn it, old man. How I wish Mortis had never infected you with the Force. For so very many reasons…_

Ainar knew he was moments away from winning this argument. "You are contrite. Humbled. Different than you were just four days ago. And the real proof? You're hiding it from your _master_."

That hit Vader right between the eyes. He'd certainly invented plenty of alibis and excuses to appease Palpatine's suspicions. If he was the same Darth Vader through and through, unchanged from the past five years, what was he hiding from the Emperor?

His own actions betrayed themselves. His subconscious was practically screaming to be heard. And it wouldn't stop until it was.

Crushed by the weight of everything, Vader slumped into the bay window seat. Could this really be happening? His identity was shifting by the smallest fractions. The fossil of his soul was sloughing off its outermost layers. And it was evidently happening without his knowledge or consent. A little disconcerting, but not altogether unwelcome.

_It must be the children_, Vader reasoned. _They triggered it by sensing good in me. By not fearing me._

But Luke and Leia were not the first to do so. Their acceptance of him didn't retroactively account for him sparing Han and Ainar's lives.

Ainar. It _was_ Ainar affecting these changes all along. He'd been the first to embrace Vader, scars and all. The first to see him as human, a person, rather than the husk of evil he masqueraded as. Ainar had made an incision in Vader's soul just large enough for the Sith to peer inside and see that something, however small, still lived.

Ainar had done what no one else alive could have. Not even Padmé. Nor the twins with their smiles and buoyant spirits.

Only Ainar.

Vader was confounded for only a minute before realization struck. Padmé and the children couldn't pull him from the quicksand of desolation because they'd never plunged into it themselves. They had suffered, yes, but not to the severity or duration that Ainar had. Five years of hiding on a temperate, familiar planet was nothing compared to 27 years adrift in cold isolation. They had each other; Ainar had only his thoughts, brittle and harsh as they bounced off the panels of his ship.

How he'd survived that voyage without losing his life was impressive. But not losing his _mind_… that shattered limits Vader assumed no man could surpass. At best, Ainar should have been reduced to catatonic madness. He certainly shouldn't have been able to navigate back to this galaxy. Anyone else – Vader included – wouldn't have lasted one year, much less 27.

But most astounding of all was that Ainar hadn't just _lasted_. He'd thrived. He'd come through that portal wiser and more self-aware than when he'd left. Where other men would have surely degenerated into violent desperation, he'd surmounted obstacles with integrity. With soundness of mind and spirit.

Ainar had faced the most daunting challenges imaginable, yet he stood before Vader an average man of middle age and even temper.

Vader had two choices: loathe himself for buckling under far less pressure than his father, or see the spark of hope before him. If his father could withstand such trials, maybe deep within Vader lay a dormant seed that could somehow be brought to germinate. All it needed was a gardener who knew how to cultivate it…

Judging from the clemency he'd already shown under Ainar's influence, it was clear who qualified for that task.

Ainar sensed the arc of Vader's thoughts and smiled wanly. "You're finally starting to see."

"I… I think so."

"We'll work together, then. You'll let me help you?"

"No one stands a better chance of succeeding than you."

"Agreed, though I hope someday soon Padmé will take the reins from me."

Sighing, Vader was quiet for a time. "And when she does, what then?"

Ainar responded with a puzzled look.

"Damn it father, do I really have to say it?" Vader became agitated. "Intimacy. Physical relations! Even if she accepts my soul again, she'll never accept the rest of me!"

"Oh," Ainar blinked, caught somewhat off-guard. "I… can't speak for her on that subject. Just how extensive are your, um, injuries?"

"Extensive," Vader said through clenched teeth. The matter was obviously quite bothersome to him.

Silent from embarrassment as much as feeling helpless, Ainar pursed his lips.

Vader threw his shame aside. "I'm not taking a chance on conversion just to become her _friend! _ If I'm going to change, it's got to be for all or nothing."

"So if your body can't be restored, all bets are off?"

"That's what I'm saying, yes."

Ainar felt winded. "That's quite the ultimatum!"

"If you were in my place, would you feel any differently?" Vader demanded. "Answer me honestly!"

"I can't say…" Ainar choked on his words.

Vader took a challenging step forward. "Let me put it this way. If you'd returned home to find Shmi still alive, but circumstances prevented you from ever joining with her again, would you be immune to that torture? Or would you keep your distance from her to maintain your sanity?"

Ainar looked him dead in the eye. "I would stay with her and sacrifice myself for the sake of the vows we exchanged."

"Then you're a better man than I am!" Vader snapped angrily. "But we both already knew that."

"Forget about me. This is about you and Padmé."

"Right. So it's really none of your business."

"Helping my son reunite with his family is as close to my business as it gets! Now tell me, was the Padmé you knew a superficial woman who only championed popular senate bills? Was she inclined to choose glitz and glamour over principles and character?"

Vader scowled, unwilling to accept Ainar's point. "No, but –"

"What makes you think she'll treat you any differently?"

"Because I'm not some tidy senate bill she can just sign and be done with!"

"Regardless, your ultimatum is still unjust. She deserves a say."

"That's your opinion," grumbled Vader. "The decision is ultimately mine."

_In all things, so stubbornly selfish_, Ainar griped, not caring if Vader overheard_. What now? We've come this far, only to give up for such a shallow reason? I'll be damned. I can't change his mind, and there's no way for him to get what he wants…_

Or was there?

Having caught Ainar's thoughts, Vader suddenly felt dizzy. Disjointed bits of memories flooded his mind in a tidal wave. Palpatine… the war strategy room… Xizor's patronizing grin… the Death Star plans hovering in midair… snippets of conversation…

"_I heard you held an integral role with the new biomedical center on Rakata Prime."_

"_Yes, artistically as well as financially."_

Rakata Prime… the biomedical center…

The rumors surrounding Xizor's newest investment were vibrant. Leading-edge techniques and procedures, some of which may or may not be fully legal, were said to be under development. Facilities rivaling those on Kamino were staffed with the galaxy's most daring, accomplished surgeons.

What better place to investigate the possibilities of body restoration? And what better time than now, with Xizor out of contact for the next few days?

There was no telling what hope, if any, Vader would find in that planet's laboratories. But he knew with chilling certainty that if he didn't explore it now, he might never again get the chance.

And what a chance it might be…

Ainar was absorbed in worrisome thoughts when Vader turned out of the room without warning.

"Where are you going?" he sputtered.

"I have a call to make to Rakata Prime."

"What? Why?" Ainar saw no connection to the issue at hand.

"I will keep you informed as things develop," Vader replied coolly. _IF they develop_…

Blinking in confusion, Ainar let his hands hang at his sides, watching his son exit. Whatever was about to transpire was out of his control. All he could do was hope and pray against what seemed to be dismal odds.

Which was exactly what Vader planned on doing as well.

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_I enjoyed breaking the typical "Padmé_ _reunites with Vader & redeems him" mold. Instead of having her help Vader with his inner demons, it's his father. I think too much emotional baggage would obstruct the process if Padmé was involved. Plus, Ainar has insight through the Force that Padmé lacks, which helps considerably._

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	18. Ch 18: Vacations by Vader

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**Chapter 18 – Vacations by Vader**

Padmé had had her fair share of awkward moments during her political career. From luncheons with egotistical figures to conferences with easily-offended royalty, she'd mastered from an early age how to minimize tension. Yet all the diplomatic practice in the galaxy hadn't prepared her for the trip that afternoon.

She knew the route up to the Great Western Sea well enough, but somehow it felt five times longer than the last time she visited. Luke and Leia were, of course, thrilled beyond belief to be on their way to their father's private retreat, and wholly oblivious to Padmé's uneasiness. From Imperial City all the way to Orowood City, they barely took a breath while chattering about the grand adventures they'd soon have.

What she wouldn't give to share their carefree spirit. But what awaited them at the foot of the Manarai Mountains differed starkly from what awaited her.

Though her family traveled intact, the splinters and divisions among its members were never more conspicuous. To her left were twins too young and naïve to confide in, and to her right sat someone she didn't even know how to begin communicating with. It all felt sickeningly artificial. Going through the motions of a normal, happy family on vacation almost made her want to retch.

_Try not to ignore how unnatural this feels. Focus on the positive. He apologized. He's shown no aggression toward me or the twins. Let's just take this one step at a time._

Most of the shuttle trip passed in a haze, but she returned to reality just in time to spot the twin Manarai peaks before landing. Their cusps were both jagged and majestic, inciting awe and fear in equal measure. A most fitting backdrop for what lay ahead.

The air whistling down their slopes smelled cleaner than anywhere else on Imperial Center, even if it was only a placebo effect. The Great Western Sea was only a man-made reservoir with stale water and scant aquatic habitats. But for most citizens, it was a lot more convenient than visiting Alderaan or Naboo. In years past, Padmé had visited a handful of times, escaping the pressures of politics for a weekend or two at a time. Never had she imagined her next visit would be under such bizarre circumstances.

Not that Luke and Leia seemed to mind. Tugging relentlessly on both her hands, they dragged her down a gravel footpath with Vader leading.

"Come on, mom! Hurry up!"

"I think I see the mansion!"

"I get whatever bedroom's got a view of the water!"

"I'll race you for it!"

"There are plenty of rooms with views of the sea," Vader assured them.

"Even one for you and mom?"

His steps faltered, as did Padmé's. Thankfully, the twin who'd spoken, Leia, forgot the question within two seconds of asking it.

"Ooh, what type of bird is that?" she pointed to a soaring hawk with an impressive wingspan.

Neither parent answered, still recovering from the tailspin of pondering their sleeping arrangements. Sharing a room was inconceivable… wasn't it? Each was individually certain of this, despite not communicating their expectations to the other.

They couldn't help but feel they were walking into a minefield rather than a palatial cottage.

That's how Padmé would describe it, anyway. The three-story abode seemed quaint compared to Vader's main residence, but it still carried his signature style, if somewhat less austere. Gray stucco walls with sharp angles blended into the surrounding granite landscape. Defining each level was a wrap-around balcony encased in privacy glass. An impeccably-maintained topiary garden lay tucked behind the western wing. An impressive property all around, and Vader's pride in ownership was evident as he led them inside.

"Feel free to browse and look around. You should find it comfortable enough."

Luke and Leia bolted away, not wasting another second. Soon their giddy squeals and shouts faded down a distant hallway, leaving Vader and Padmé alone in a breathtakingly bright sitting room. The entire wall from floor to ceiling was a seamless glass panel overlooking the sea. A set of geometric-themed furniture pieces sat in precise formation.

Padmé's neck muscles locked into place as she tried to walk evenly toward the glass wall. She hoped against the odds that her trembling knees weren't obvious.

"This is certainly different from your palace," she observed, keeping her back to him.

"Is it?" he paced several feet behind her. "How would you know?"

"I've seen images of it."

"Only of the outside."

"It isn't hard to imagine what's inside, based on… on the…" Padmé's voice cracked. She'd been raised not to judge a book by its cover, but what other choice did she have when it came to his home? It was, after all, a large-scale reflection of his suit, and she knew what _that_ concealed.

"You're right, of course. It's not half as welcoming as this place."

"What made you want it?"

Strange, he'd never been asked that before, nor had he wondered it himself. Why _did_ he want something so bright and contrasting to his obsidian tower? He couldn't say. It had merely drawn him for reasons unknown. He could've just as easily installed dark interior walls instead of off-white, and black carpet instead of light gray. Upon further reflection, he realized the only black object throughout the entire building was his Qabbrat pod on the third floor. It was curious indeed.

"My design consultant recommended a lighter theme, given the seaside ambience," he invented a reason.

Padmé nodded. "It's nice."

_Nice_. The word was preposterously banal with the two of them standing there like chess pieces, not knowing whose move was next.

Since nothing prevented him from doing so, Vader closed the distance between them with heavy yet uncertain steps. Soon he stood in closer proximity to her than he thought she'd allow. He waited for her to recoil, to backpedal in revulsion and fear, yet she did not. Minutes passed with the two estranged lovers readjusting to each other's presence – and feeling much like the artificial islands floating on the sea beyond.

"Are we through with small talk?" Vader asked quietly, unable to take the silence any longer.

The muscles in Padmé's chin tightened, but otherwise her face remained impassive. "We can be."

No sense in delaying the awkward topics. "I… doubt you intended to share a room with me, but even if you did, you can't. I don't sleep in a conventional bed."

"I assumed as much," she replied matter-of-factly.

Her cool demeanor and implied knowledge gave him pause. Just how much did she know? How could she have learned…

Obi-Wan.

Naturally. Still meddling in affairs he shouldn't be. Still betraying Vader's secrets before he could explain himself. Even after all this time, still as bothersome a thorn in Vader's side as ever.

A thorn he'd permanently remove in due time.

For the time being, however, other matters took precedence. "Then you know we won't be… reuniting in the full sense."

She looked ill, blinking at the ocean with acute discomfort. At last she turned to face him.

"What in the name of all that's holy makes you think for one _second_ I'd consider doing that, even if we could?!" her petite frame shook. "Of all the twisted, arrogant, delusional expectations I thought you'd have, this was dead last!"

Her vehement rejection stung more than Vader expected. Staring down at the comlink in his hand for the hundredth time that hour, he wished fervently for it to buzz.

"Point taken," Vader clenched his teeth. "We understand each other."

His non-argumentative stance disarmed Padmé. "Yes, I guess we do."

"It may be a foolish dream, but I hope we continue to understand each other more."

"You do realize that will require more effort on your part than mine."

"Yes," Vader acknowledged.

"And we'll need to set guidelines from the beginning."

"Such as?"

"Those concerning Luke and Leia," Padmé tensed. "I can't stop them from addressing you as their father. But I'm not sure what _I_ should call you in their presence."

"You know my name. You may call me that."

"I know what name you _go by_ now. But I can't imagine saying it in front of them. It makes me sick."

"That is your issue. I will not respond to any other name," Vader declared flatly. _Yet I did when it was my mother calling me Anakin…_

"Maybe I won't call you anything then. I'll just point at you and use pronouns when necessary."

"How impolite for a former senator," he frowned. "Shall I do the same to you?"

Padmé lifted her nose. "If that's what you want, I can't stop you."

Except that _wasn't_ what Vader wanted. Having her here, miraculously revived after five years, left him wanting to say her name more than ever. It sat on the edge of his tongue, enchanting yet forbidden. Ainar had been right: _"Saying their names reminds you of all the pain you've caused them."_

Yet _not_ saying it was causing him just as much pain.

"I want to say it."

"Then say it. Nobody's stopping you."

Meeting her defiant stare, Vader exhaled the syllables. "Padmé."

He watched her swallow slowly. An inscrutable mix of emotions filled her eyes.

"It sounds wrong coming from this mouthpiece," he said in self-debasement.

"No…" Padmé shook her head cautiously. "It just… takes some getting used to."

Vader's heart almost skipped a beat. She hadn't patently rejected the part of him that still felt the need – and right – to say her name. An inconsequential victory in anyone else's eyes, but to him it was tantamount to a miracle.

"Take all the time you need."

Without conscious thought, tendons between his forearm and elbow contracted, bringing his right hand toward her chin with painstaking slowness. He was as breathless as she, both bracing for the impact of leather on porcelain skin. She had ample time to see what was coming and dodge it if desired. Yet to his amazement and hers, she stood firm, her breath quickening but otherwise steady.

Contact stunned them both. Its tenderness rendered her speechless; feeling her warmth in prosthetic fingertips left him the same.

"I've waited five years to see your face somewhere other than my dreams. I'm nothing if not patient," he tried to keep his hand from trembling.

"Are you?" she whispered. It was meant half rhetorically, half skeptically. Darth Vader, patient? Had she not been standing there with his hand gently tipping her chin, she'd have laughed at the concept. But the very palace in which this scene unfolded proved she was in for a number of surprises.

"For you, I can be," Vader rolled his comlink absently between the fingers of his other hand. _Call me back! It's been three hours already. What fool makes Darth Vader wait this long?_

A distant crash broke the mounting romantic tension, causing Vader to drop his arm and Padmé to jump.

"We'd better reel them back in," she peered anxiously down the hall, flustered by more than the chaos the twins were causing.

"They were quiet for too long," Vader tried some dry parental humor.

Padmé offered an uneven smile and made a few steps toward the sound, but then stopped mid-stride.

"One last thing about names," she hesitated. "I don't want you mentioning Palpatine in front of them. Ever."

"I can honor that request."

The gratitude in her smile was genuine. "Thank you."

No sooner were the guidelines set when Luke and Leia came sprinting into the room, each pointing a finger at the other.

"Luke did it!"

"Did not! It was Leia!"

"What did both – or neither – of you do?" Vader asked.

"Um… a vase kinda fell over," Luke said sheepishly.

"A vase? That can be replaced. They're not all that expensive."

Padmé appeared as relieved as the twins themselves. Testing the limits of Vader's alleged patience probably wasn't best so early in their visit.

"See Luke, I told you not to worry! Daddy's got lots of money," Leia said proudly.

"Duh. He's got two houses, he's rich!"

"How'd you get so much money, Daddy?"

"Yeah, where do you work? Who's your boss?"

Of course he'd be asked that within minutes of having his hands tied. Ensuring he didn't forget their agreement, Padmé answered for him.

"Daddy can't say."

"How come?"

"Because he's not proud of whom he works for," she casually replied. "Isn't that right, _daddy?_"

So, she'd found a way to circumvent his name _and_ question his loyalty to Palpatine. Still wickedly clever as always. And so presumptuous. Just because he'd agreed to keep Palpatine a secret didn't automatically mean he was ashamed of his career.

Did it?

"How I feel about that is besides the–"

Vader's reply was cut short by the high-pitched buzz of his comlink, which he nearly dropped in anxious surprise.

"Excuse me. I have to take this," he fumbled with the device. "I'll return momentarily."

Padmé and the twins watched with measured curiosity as he hurried out the door. Whoever had contacted him was clearly of singular importance. Padmé's guess, given the coincidental timing, was that it was Palpatine himself. He'd already caused one ungainly interruption that day, why not another?

Vader's mood upon returning seemed to validate her theory. The conversation had left him jittery, if that word was ever appropriate.

"I'm sorry to leave so soon… I didn't anticipate…" he vocalized disjointed thoughts.

"What's the matter?" Padmé asked with alarm. Anything that agitated Vader to this extent couldn't be good.

"I can't explain now. But I must go."

"Right now, this minute?"

"Yes. I have no choice…" Vader's words were hauntingly cryptic. "It may be some time before I return, but I will maintain contact with you. I promise."

"What is happening?" Padmé's mouth hung open. "Not fifteen minutes after bringing us here, you take off without warning? And you won't even tell us why?"

"You have to trust me. I'd tell you if I could."

"_Trust_ you?!" she scoffed.

"You'll have to try sooner or later, or living here will prove very tiresome for you," he advised. "You'll want for nothing while I'm gone. My staff will maintain the grounds and amenities."

"I'm not worried about _starving_," Padmé crossed her arms.

"Then what troubles you?"

Padmé's indignation ran dry in an instant. Caught in the well of her throat was the true reason, but she edited it before responding.

"I just… don't like the idea of so many empty rooms. The echoes might get spooky for the twins."

Vader sensed her mild deceit but his mind raced onward – to a solution that would satisfy everyone, including one who was not present.

"Then I'll send someone else to keep you company."

"Who?" Luke and Leia asked in unison.

The slight upturn of a smile formed under Vader's helmet. "It's a surprise. Someone you'll all enjoy meeting."

At least Padmé could tell there was genuine good will behind that promise. This man she once called husband was just as enigmatic as she suspected… though not in altogether predictable ways.

"So you don't know when you'll be back?" Leia asked, crestfallen.

"No, but I _will_ return. And the wait will be worthwhile."

Padmé couldn't see the determined look burning on Vader's face. All she knew was the intense disappointment that she and the twins presently shared.

"We'll be here," was all she could manage.

Giving half a nod, Vader hesitated, torn over whether or not to say anything more. Neither he nor Padmé expected Luke and Leia to seize that moment of indecision by embracing him.

"We'll miss you daddy," they nuzzled into his cloak, ignoring its stale, iron-cold smell.

His respirator skipped a rhythm. "And I you."

Vader might have never let go if not for a barrage of visions that invaded his mind. Visions of future embraces with no prosthetic alloy limbs drawing the twins close… no armor or galvanized leather separating the beat of his heart from theirs… eyes free to gaze upon each other with clear simplicity…

As wonderful as this moment felt, he could only imagine it occurring one, perhaps two months from now. But he had to forfeit this current gift to reach the next tier. Relinquish this present, tangible grace for the promise of something far better.

It wasn't easy. Detaching himself from their arms was among the most difficult tasks of his adult life. Leaving them in his long shadow as he departed felt like abject abandonment. Yet he did so by holding fast to that vision… the one he was about to realize, with any luck.

The family trio he left behind stood in stunned silence, each staring at the path his boots had taken out the door.

"It's not fair," Leia pouted. "We just got here, and then he left!"

"We didn't even get to show him what rooms we picked," lamented Luke.

"I know," Padmé commiserated, frowning despite herself. Her level of frustration rivaled the twins', a fact she found more unsettling than she cared to admit. What had come over her? She'd endured a veritable roller coaster of emotions the past twenty-four hours; was the psychological toll catching up with her? Maybe her heart was just too exhausted from being captured, almost executed, and then shown inexplicable humanity by the last person she expected it from.

She simply didn't know which end was up anymore. She was confused, but it would pass in time. She just needed an hour to decompress and clear her mind, and her tumultuous heart would settle again.

Besides, why should she invest emotional energy into missing someone who'd just bolted at Palpatine's summons? His continued loyalty to that Sith lord undermined all the measured kindness he'd shown them. Padmé's weakly resuscitated affection – if it could be called that – was grossly misplaced and misguided. Perhaps Vader's absence was just what she needed to see things in stark, honest relief.

"Where do you think he went, mom?" Luke intruded her thoughts.

"It could be anywhere," Padmé hedged, wanting to shield them from Palpatine's identity as long as possible. "We'll just have to be patient and take him at his word. He'll come back," she said with more assurance than she felt.

Leia scuffed her boots across the carpet. "I don't wanna be here anymore."

"Yeah, let's go back home to Naboo. It's safe now, right?" asked Luke.

"We don't know that yet. And even if we did, we don't have a transport."

"Can't we call Uncle Bail and Aunt Breha?" he suggested.

"Or Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru?"

"I'm afraid not," Padmé replied. "My comlink was taken when we were put in prison yesterday."

Luke and Leia exchanged sullen looks.

"Nobody would come anyway coz they don't wanna see daddy," inferred Leia.

Presenting a united, determined front, the twins faced their mother with resolve.

"How come they don't like him?" Leia demanded.

Padmé should have known this issue was far from resolved. Ever since that awkward flight between Alderaan and Tatooine last week, the topic had been simmering and waiting for a time like this to resurface. And there were no diversions to call upon this time.

"They're afraid of him," she answered with plain honesty. "They dislike all the bad things he's done."

"He didn't hurt _us_," Leia argued.

"No, but we were lucky. _Very_ lucky. Other people aren't that lucky, sweetheart."

The children absorbed this for a minute, reading what they believed to be between the lines.

"It's coz we're related. Daddy won't hurt people he's related to," offered Luke.

_I once believed that… until Mustafar_, Padmé reflected bitterly. Her mouth twisted from the effort to keep her emotions in check – not an easy task of late.

"Let's hope that's true," she choked on the words. "Now why don't you two run outside and play on the beach? It'll be dark in a couple hours. Go enjoy the sun while it's out."

Having forgotten about the sandy shores awaiting them, the twins raced each other to the door. Seconds later Padmé could see them from her vantage point two stories above. Their joyful smiles were nearly as bright as the sun beaming down. She'd lost count of all the times she found herself envying their resilience. What kept her from embracing it? Why couldn't she frolic in the loam and imprint her bare feet in wet sand with hardly a care?

Because her memories were too deeply etched to be washed away by the lapping waves.

Because, cynical or not, she had her theories as to why Vader was treating them so civilly.

Selfishness. It invariably boiled down to selfish motives. It had to. All the comforts and indulgences in the galaxy meant nothing as long as that character flaw persisted. This place, the very room she stood in, was just a façade designed to lure those from whom he sought to gain something. Be it money, power, strategic alliances… or something else.

Love. Or a close substitute. Loyalty. Codependency.

Was this his goal with the twins? Charm them to the point where their loyalty unwittingly shifted from one parent to the other? And charm Padmé just enough so she never saw it coming?

Force…

How she prayed that wasn't his aim. Yet given all she knew about his past and present self, there were few – if any – alternative scenarios. Only time would tell if her suspicions were correct. If they were, at least she wouldn't be half as blind as Vader may want her to be.

Though not blind to his scheming, Padmé was blind in a literal sense to the Great Western Sea's secrets. For across the water sat a pair of crystal blue, unblinking eyes that watched Padmé's children with obsessive interest. The figure's slender hands adjusted a long-distance telescope and smirked slightly.

Xizor would definitely want to know about this when he returned.

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	19. Ch 19: The Humanity

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**Chapter 19 – The Humanity**

Imperial Center saw no sign of Darth Vader for the next two days. Its citizens speculated he was off stalking renegade Jedis on some distant planet, or occupied with last-minute Death Star schematics in the depths of the Emperor's palace. Yet neither of these assumptions was correct – and no one would have ever guessed the truth behind Vader's absence.

No one, indeed, would have envisioned him quarantined in his own palace, self-administering a series of injections and dietary supplements. Some of which left him feeling too week or light-headed to leave his Qabbrat pod for hours at a time. And when he did hobble outside the sphere, it was only to re-read some lengthy instructions on a datapad and insert another vial into his suit's biomedical interface. Then it was back to the Qabbrat for another nap.

Vader returned to coherence late on the second day, still groggy but slowly regaining mental clarity. It was dark outside. He craned his stiff neck to survey the table to his left. Littered with empty vials and syringes, it looked like the aftermath a deranged pharmacist's experiment. But it was a welcome sight. The full course of preoperative procedures was finished, and now he was ready.

Ready for Rakata Prime.

How quickly tomorrow had crept up on him during his 48-hour haze. _Tomorrow_… he couldn't conceptualize it. In less than one full rotation from now, he'd be in an environment even more sterile than this one, subjecting himself to the mercy of a team of doctors he'd never met. Allowing himself to be stripped of all armor, laid bare on an operation table all too similar to the one he'd last lain on, and drift into unconscious vulnerability while they worked their magic. It all sent a tremor down Vader's spine.

He was not accustomed to vulnerability. Yet here he was, about to voluntarily strip himself of all dignity and power for what could be a long period of time.

How long exactly, he wasn't sure. Dr. Korta on Rakata Prime could only give him a recovery estimate of four to twelve weeks. Much of the timeframe depended on Vader's efforts, he was told. _If that is so, they may soon find the record broken. My motivation should easily defy the four-week mark._

Even if such expectations were outrageous, they buoyed Vader above the insecurity he didn't fully want to acknowledge. Better to be overconfident than crippled by fear.

As the chrono rolled closer to midnight, however, his hold on inflated optimism began to slip. Facing his last night on Imperial Center alone might not be the best idea, he realized. It was time to call upon a resource that he, at times, still couldn't believe he had.

Vader reached Ainar's apartment not twenty minutes later and found him a little unkempt from having just gone to bed, but more than willing to welcome his son at this late hour.

"Couldn't sleep?" asked Ainar as they sat down.

"Not even if I wanted to. I've slept straight through the past two days."

"What? Why?"

"Preoperative preparations," Vader sighed.

Ainar frowned, not understanding, but soon his groggy mind caught on and his eyes widened. "You mean…?"

"I leave tomorrow for Rakata Prime."

"Wow," Ainar ran a hand through his hair. "That soon? That was a quick response."

"Yes, quicker than I expected."

"I'll be honest – when you showed up a minute ago, I thought the family reunion up north hadn't gone so well. But _this_… this is incredible!"

Vader smiled thinly, touched by Ainar's enthusiasm. "It is."

Ainar shook his head in wonder. "Do Padmé and the twins know?"

"I want to surprise them," replied Vader unevenly.

Whether intentional or not, Vader's uncertainty drifted over to Ainar who picked it up instantly. "You're not entirely sure it will work, are you?"

No sense in keeping the truth from him. "No."

Ainar's initial rejoicing faded from his eyes. "They can't guarantee everything."

Sober silence hung between them for a minute, each man reflecting on two very disparate possible outcomes. Dwelling on the optimistic one seemed naïve, while the pessimistic one was too demoralizing to consider. Their thoughts bounced between the two like ping-pong balls in a vicious rally.

"How long will you be away?" Ainar inquired.

"That too depends. I'm told four to twelve weeks, but that's _if_ they deem the procedure viable in the first place," answered Vader. "It had better be. I haven't followed their miserable pre-op instructions for nothing."

Ainar pondered this. "What if it is? For nothing, I mean?"

"I will not entertain such thoughts tonight."

"But you need to. The possibility exists that you'll return home looking and feeling just as you do now. Are you prepared for that?"

Vader clenched a fist and looked away. "You know my ultimatum."

"That if you don't get what you want, your family's on their own?" Ainar didn't hide his distaste. "I'm aware. And you're aware of my opinion on the matter."

"I did not come here to argue, Father. I came for solace in these anxious hours."

"Wouldn't you feel more at ease if you had a better Plan B? Something other than abandonment?"

Vader said nothing. If ever there was a reluctant invitation for Ainar to continue, this was it.

"Let me ask you this – how _was_ your trip to the beach home?"

"Uneventful," Vader replied tersely.

"Try more than one word."

The brief visit held more emotional content than Vader had anticipated, and sorting through it wasn't a task he wanted to do quite yet – or in front of Ainar.

"It was…civil, for the most part." Padmé's face leapt into view and warmth flooded his cheeks. "If not for the call from Rakata Prime, I'd have stayed much longer."

Ainar nodded in vindication. "It was enjoyable for everyone, more or less?"

"One might summarize it that way."

"And this happened despite your suit and its physical limitations."

Vader resented being trapped but had to concede Ainar's point. "Apparently."

"My first point is made," stated Ainar. "But I have another one. What if the procedure _works?_"

The question made no sense. What if it worked? How was that a negative contingency to plan for? "Why ask that?"

"Because I want you to see this opportunity for what it is. I get the feeling you take it for granted, or at least fail to appreciate it fully. You don't realize that both outcomes will require great effort," Ainar explained. "If the procedure fails, you must overcome selfishness to do right by your family. And if it succeeds you must do the same."

"I'm too tired for riddles," Vader grumbled.

"Either you undergo an internal transformation despite no physical one, or _because_ of one. Neither will be easy. The temptation to withdraw from your family will be as strong as that to remain loyal to Palpatine."

Vader was starting to regret coming to 250 Republica this evening. Being alone didn't seem quite as unappealing as it did half an hour ago.

"Who are you to decide what I must choose between?" demanded Vader. "My family and career are not mutually exclusive."

"In this case they are. You can't serve two masters, son."

"So you say."

"Will you be able to focus on serving Palp when thoughts of the twins invade your daydreams? Can you look your son or daughter in the eye when they ask what you did at work that day?" Ainar stepped closer, arms crossed. "Weren't you the one who wanted to keep them 'detached from your paradigm'? You saw your allegiance to Palpatine as incompatible with them – yet now you don't?"

Growing angry but too sedated to express it, Vader stared out the balcony window. His thoughts were as clear as the light-polluted sky blocking the stars. Ainar stared out at the night traffic with him for several minutes.

"I don't understand what's keeping you from making the right decision, son. The choice seems clear to me."

Vader gave a ragged sigh. "It is not so simple."

"Why not?" Ainar said incredulously. "You're handed back the family you thought was dead, yet you won't leave the monster who deceived you all these years?"

"Five years is a long time, whether serving a worthy master or not. I cannot simply erase it as if it never happened."

The ingrained devotion to which Vader alluded made Ainar's stomach churn. The Dark Side was indeed alluring if his son struggled this much to reject it, even now.

What a wretched creature the Emperor was. Depraved to the very bone.

"Five years is a long time, yes. But not too long to atone for," Ainar replied, turning toward Vader with conviction. "Your family won't automatically love you more if your body is restored. Nor will they love you less if it isn't. What they want is for your _soul_ to heal – and that's something no doctor can help you with."

Vader knew all this even before Ainar spoke it. These were the truths he'd avoided confronting for days. Restoring his body was a calculated process that the right amount of money and physical perseverance could attain. Healing his soul, however, required far costlier resources. He'd been hoping to get by on just the basic ones… and solve all his internal problems by fixing the exterior only.

But he knew better than that. Five years of wearing that suit had taught him that appearances don't magically transform a heart. If that were true, he should feel invincible and untouchable. And he of all people knew he wasn't those things.

Through the layers of self-doubt and confusion, Ainar could sense Vader's mind surrender. It was a start.

"I'm having trouble keeping my eyes open," he apologized, yawning. "I think I've said all I can for tonight."

Vader nodded absently. "Good night."

Ainar began to shuffle away. "Wake me before you leave tomorrow morning."

"All right," Vader promised, then remembered something. "But I won't be the only one traveling."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll be dropping you off at the retreat."

Tired as he was, Ainar was certain he'd heard wrong. "Say that again?"

"The children want someone to keep them company while I'm gone," Vader explained. "I told them to expect a surprise guest."

Ainar was too beside himself to do anything but stare, unblinking, at his son. Overcome with gratitude and anticipation, he proceeded to dream of the next day's blessings while Vader dwelled on thoughts of far darker nature. While the morning couldn't come soon enough for one man, the other wished another night lay between him and fate.

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Autopilot was a wonderful invention. For most pilots, it made catching up on lost sleep possible, or at least resting their travel-weary minds for an hour or two. Whatever the case, it usually meant leaving the cockpit for a more comfortable nook on board.

Not in Xizor's case. Since receiving Guri's transmission that evening, he hadn't even thought of moving from his seat. Stars, asteroids, and nebulae whizzed past the view screen, but he was too engrossed in his datapad to notice. What he read was far more interesting than any stellar formation.

Guri, true to form, had been doing her job exceptionally well – to a degree that exceeded Xizor's expectations, really. Each page of intel he scrolled through seemed more incredible than the last. It began with standard baseline facts, such as Vader's waking and sleeping times, visitors to his palace (a few trembling salesmen who scuttled up to the door before sprinting), and movements between his palace and the Emperor's. Then things started to get rather intriguing.

How Guri had managed to trace Vader's most recent bank transactions, Xizor didn't know, but the overview she'd provided was invaluable. It was a one-month snapshot of Vader's account, beginning with typical business transfers. But as of one week ago, more curious items started appearing. First was a sizeable security deposit for a 250 Republica apartment – one of their finest suites, no less. The tenant was identified only as Starkiller.

_Starkiller_… something about that name prodded Xizor's memory. It sounded half familiar, like the echo from a dream he'd had years ago. Or the faded whisper of a name he'd heard just once and then never again.

Whoever it was, they were clearly favored by Vader. The Dark Lord didn't commit to paying 20,000 credits a month for just anyone. Starkiller must be someone of importance. And since Xizor couldn't trace the name to anything political or Death Star-related, it must be someone of _personal_ importance to Vader, not professional.

That Vader had any personal relationships at all was enough to raise Xizor's brow. That alone reinforced Palpatine's suspicions that Vader was hiding something.

And the incriminating evidence just kept mounting. Unscheduled trips to Zygerria and Tatooine – which, if asked, Vader would insist were Jedi hunts. Yet his turnaround time on each planet seemed too short to find and eliminate his targets. Nor should he have needed the company of a middle-aged man on each trip. Xizor could only assume this was Starkiller.

These findings would have been adequate to bring before Palpatine. But the crown jewel of all Guri uncovered still awaited Xizor's hungry eyes. And when those eyes saw it, they didn't blink.

A woman and two young children were seen frolicking on Vader's private beach on the Great Western Sea. With Vader nowhere to be seen, Guri had watched his guests coming and going from the retreat as they pleased. Vader's groundskeepers came into no conflict with the family. The children, who appeared to be of similar age, were described as playful and boisterous.

Starkiller was enough of a surprise. _This_… this was simply unbelievable.

In the course of a week, Vader had gone from being friendless to having not one but two adults under his hospitality – not to mention two children. Who were these people, and why had they appeared in such close succession?

_By Sith, Vader, I always knew you had to have some massive secrets. _

How patiently Xizor had waited for this day. The day when Vader's house of cards began to topple straight into Xizor's hands.

And how cunning he planned to be with how he played those cards.

He hadn't yet shuffled them into proper order yet. He relished that challenge, however, especially with the portal discovery in the mix. Xizor had found it just where Vader said he would: due north of Helska. A rift wide enough for a mid-size transport to glide through if the pilot knew exactly where to look. Xizor had indulged his curiosity by passing through, taking in the stunning view of what lay beyond. And then, having had his fill of the universe wild, he reversed course back toward Imperial Center.

Romantic he'd never be described as. Ruthless businessman, yes. Xizor's thoughts swirled around the profit margins the portal would bring rather than its existential significance. The temptation to deceive the Emperor almost made him salivate. If he denied finding it, the benefits would be twofold – he could collect all toll profits for himself _and_ undercut Vader's credibility yet again.

Of course, it all hinged on Xizor's professional lying skills. He could fool just about anyone he pleased, but he sensed all bets were off when it came to the Emperor. He hadn't fought to gain Palpatine's favor only to lose it through a moment of foolish arrogance. No, he'd have to play it safe, as much as he wished otherwise.

Besides, he had more than enough ammunition from Guri's spying efforts. Vader could have his portal. If things played out the way Xizor imagined, Vader wouldn't be around to enjoy it for long anyway.

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Streaks of silver painted the sky above Imperial City the next morning. An odd color danced between the clouds, changing hue each minute, casting dim shadows on the two figures who exited 250 Republica. The breath of one was visible in faint puffs, while the other's remained hidden behind his mask. Together they walked the cold sidewalks toward Vader's shuttle hangar.

Neither could leave his own reverie to make idle conversation. Thoughts of what lie ahead consumed them both, casting a holy silence over the calm morning.

That calmness broke when Xizor's cold silhouette rounded the corner. Tense surprise flared between the two nemeses; it was too late for either to avert their course. Not that Xizor would've wanted to anyway.

"Good morning Vader!" Xizor strode toward them, grinning maliciously. "Up early today I see."

"Not early enough to avoid you," growled Vader.

"Well, _somebody_ woke up on the wrong side of the pod this morning," Xizor chastised. "And so rude. Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

Intensely disliking this encounter, Vader gritted his teeth. "This is Starkiller."

Xizor nodded once at the elder human. "Pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Prince Xizor. No doubt Vader has mentioned my name on occasion."

Ainar smiled flatly, not wanting to be impolite.

"So, it appears you two are coming from the 250 Republica district," Xizor tried to observe casually.

"What of it? I am free to move about this city as I please."

"Without a doubt. I'm just impressed – 250 Republica is one of Imperial City's priciest buildings. You must do quite well for yourself, Mr. Starkiller."

"Thank you," Ainar acknowledged unevenly.

"You're quite welcome. I've known some tenants who had to subsidize their rent through a benefactor – but I'm sure that isn't the case for you."

Xizor's tone and piercing stare pressed Vader to change the subject. "Did you find the portal, Xizor?"

"Yes, I did," Xizor replied matter-of-factly.

"You're off to inform the Emperor, then?"

"Obviously. What isn't obvious is _your_ destination."

"That is not and will never be any of your business," Vader snarled.

"Off on another Jedi hunt?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not."

"The Jedi you killed last week on Tatooine – what was his name?"

"Why the sudden interest in my 'pet project?'" Vader folded his arms. "Last I checked, you couldn't care less about Order 66."

"I had a lot of time to think the past few days. I realized I should be keeping more abreast of your killing patterns," Xizor answered smoothly. "I'm curious whether you're employing the same tactics as you did on Falleen two years ago."

Vader stiffened. Why was the Prince dredging this up here and now? With Ainar present, no less? _I thought he didn't want to expose this vulnerability to anyone, but clearly I'm mistaken…_

"I did what had to be done," came Vader's dry words.

"I see. Obliterating 200,000 people was necessary."

"Would you rather I have destroyed the entire planet? I chose the more humane option, Xizor!"

The Falleen's eyebrows rose. "Humane? Since when is Darth Vader interested in being _humane?_ Does the Emperor know you're going soft?"

"Does he know that your entire family perished that day? That your dynasty was weakened and your royal status critically jeopardized?" Vader demanded. "No, he _doesn't_ know that. Because you permanently erased all evidence of it happening."

Xizor glared but made no immediate retort.

Vader shoved past him with Ainar close behind. "We all do things for self-preservation, Prince. My discretion is no more flawed than yours."

The Skywalker duo took about ten steps when Xizor's final words ricocheted down the street.

"You're right Vader, we all have secrets. Just keep in mind, some have a way of coming to light before others."

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	20. Ch 20: Deductions

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**Chapter 20 – Deductions**

Without a single cloud blemishing the sky, the fourth sunrise Padmé saw over the Great Western Sea was easily the most beautiful. Though she wouldn't admit it out loud, the scenery was doing wonders to ease her mind and soul since he left. It was inevitable, she figured. If this place could soothe the second most evil man in the galaxy, it would charm her with no effort at all.

Luke and Leia were still no less enamored with the place than when they arrived. Each day from sunup to sundown they gloried in the warm, fine sand that stretched a full mile along the shore. Padmé did her best to keep their fair skin protected with solar block lotion, but a constellation of freckles had begun to spread across both their faces. Faces that, for the most part, smiled incessantly these days.

Had someone told her five days ago that she'd soon find herself a guest in Vader's personal retreat, comfortable and provided for all hours of the day, she'd have laughed to hide her terror at the prospect.

Life certainly hadn't gone as planned the past week. But with each passing day, that seemed to matter less and less.

Fear and hope still battled for dominance in her mind, but the fact that fear wasn't winning by a landslide meant something. Very little of what she'd seen and experienced since their capture had followed Obi-Wan's predictions. Vader's selfishness wasn't manifesting itself how any of them expected. He'd imprisoned them, but without ultimatum. He chose the terms by which they lived, but those terms were far more generous than she'd imagined possible.

Everything was so gray, not the black and white Obi-Wan convinced her existed. If only Vader could tip the scales decisively away from black… with some gesture of good faith, like leaving Palpatine… but the odds of that happening were surely nonexistent. If nothing else, she should accept this was as good as it would get: no violence toward her or the children, no harsh living conditions, no

Not yet, anyway. The possibility remained that he was manipulating them all into comfort and security, only to rip it away when the time was right.

If that was his plan, there was little she could do to thwart it. She might as well enjoy the retreat's luxuries while she could. After all, would an inmate hours away from execution wish for anything more?

Because if he intended to abduct or brainwash the twins, he'd have to kill her first.

And he surely knew that already. He may be tormented, but he wasn't stupid.

Padmé raised the rim of her mug to her lips, sipping tea as she watched the sun slowly climb the Manarai mountains. Her tranquil moment ended a minute later when the twins sprinted into the room.

"Morning mom!" they chirped together.

"Good morning," Padmé lifted the mug away from their level just in time. "Ready for breakfast?"

"Yeah! Can we have pancakes again?" begged Leia.

"If there's enough flour left."

"There's _tons_ of flour!" proclaimed Luke. "And fruit and bagels and juice…"

Blinking, Padmé followed her enthusiastic children to the kitchen, where a bountiful spread of edible items covered the counters. There were baskets overflowing with ripe fruits and vegetables, some of which she recognized as being quite rare. Interspersed were loaves of freshly baked rolls and bread. Upon opening the food preserver, she discovered several beverages of every color spectrum.

"See? Told you there's plenty!" Luke stated proudly.

"Yes, there certainly is," Padmé agreed, astounded. This was the second time they'd awoken to such a display. Half the items from the previous delivery still hadn't been eaten.

"I want blueberry this time," Leia declared, pulling herself up onto a stool.

"And I want chocolate chip," Luke placed his order next.

Padmé set about heating the stovetop, marveling at the excess food. She hadn't heard anyone enter the house the night before. Nor had she heard anything prior to the first delivery a few days ago. Vader's servants knew how to be quiet as mice.

"What are you gonna have, Mom?" Leia asked.

"Probably some eggs and fruit."

Luke started rolling a purple fruit back and forth between his hands. "I wonder what Dad's favorite breakfast is."

"I don't know." _Nothing we'd consider edible or appetizing, I'm sure_…

"When's he coming back?"

Padmé was glad her back was turned to them. "I don't know that either, Luke. He didn't tell us when."

"He didn't even tell you in secret?"

"No, I'm sorry."

She could sense his frown without turning around. Why _couldn't_ he give them an estimate? And what about that"special guest" he'd promised just before he left? Padmé was right to suspend her faith in him. His integrity and trustworthiness were, sadly, turning out to match Obi-Wan's opinion.

Sighing, she flipped over the first set of pancakes, trying not to dwell on the negative. At least they weren't in that prison anymore. That place smelled of death and despair. Vader's infidelity aside, she much preferred the scent of pancakes any day.

No sooner did she slide the food onto their plates when a knock at the door made them all jump out of their skin.

"Who's that?" Leia whirled around excitedly.

"Is it Dad?"

"I bet it is, I bet it is!"

"Quick, let's go see him!"

Padmé's mouth fell half open by the time they bolted from the room. Racing after them in alarm, she nearly tripped in her haste to overtake them. It was a lost cause – their head start brought them skidding up to the door in no time. With a quick turn of the handle, they opened wide the gates to allow Force only knew who into a home that wasn't theirs.

The face beaming down at the twins was as shocking as it was benevolent. Padmé froze several feet behind the children, relieved yet too shaken to speak.

"_Grandpa!_" cheered the twins, who fought for real estate on Ainar's torso. Their zeal almost knocked him over.

Laughing in amazement, Ainar squeezed them both. "What a welcome! I wasn't expecting this!"

"We missed you!"

"I _knew_ we'd see you again!"

"Well, I missed you too," he improvised, astonished. These were the children he'd met on the transport two weeks ago. Force, no wonder he'd felt a connection to them! They were his grandchildren, and the woman standing behind them was…

"Padmé?" he peered uncertainly at her over the top of Luke and Leia's heads.

Her voice hadn't yet fully returned. "You… you're…"

"Ainar," he gently set the twins down and extended his hand, smiling like a fool. "You may or may not remember me…"

"I do," she exhaled. "I absolutely do."

Their handshake quickly dissolved into a hug. "You look surprised, yet the twins seem to have known I was coming."

"They sense things I usually can't."

"Because they're Force-sensitive."

"Yes."

Ainar grinned broadly at the three of them. "You have me to thank for that. I'll tell you all about it once I'm settled in. Who wants to help me with my things and show me my room?"

"We do!" the twins volunteered without a moment's hesitation, racing to grab his bags. The commotion gradually died down over the next hour, during which the twins hardly paused to take a breath. When at last their mouths started to wind down, the grumbling of their stomachs became audible.

"Hungry, are we?" Ainar observed.

"We had just sat down for breakfast when you arrived," Padmé explained. "There's plenty for you, if you care to join us."

"I'd love to."

Having Ainar seated at the breakfast bar in Darth Vader's exclusive retreat was surreal to say the least. Yet no more surreal than any of the other events leading up to this moment, Padmé wagered. She tried but failed to keep from gazing at him with open awe. The similarities he shared with Anakin seemed even more striking now in this light. There could be no doubt this man was exactly who he claimed to be.

_Thank heavens, I'm not crazy! Bail and Breha tried to tell me I was, but it's true – he _is_ Anakin's father._

_So where has he been all this time, and why did he only return now? So many questions…_

"These pancakes are excellent," Ainar praised, taking another bite.

"Thank you. I've been trying to improve my cooking skills over the years."

"I haven't had food this good in well over two decades."

The pensive look on Padmé's face made Ainar hastily swallow the rest of his breakfast. "Luke and Leia, I bet the water's the perfect temperature for swimming right now!"

"How do you know?" Leia asked.

"Trust me, it's always perfect just before noon," he insisted. "Go on, you don't want to miss it!"

"Are you coming with us?"

"Not right now. I'm too full to go swimming just yet."

Shrugging, the pair hurried to don their bathing suits, which were still damp from the day before.

Padmé watched as they splashed along the shore, wishing she knew how to start this conversation.

"You must have a thousand questions for me," began Ainar, much to her relief.

"How can I not?" she pressed her lips. "No offense, but you shouldn't exist."

"No one is more aware of that than I am."

"Explain it to me, please. I just can't imagine how a boy can grow up believing he's fatherless when he's really not."

"Once you hear my story, you'll know how," he promised her, and began.

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Ainar and Padmé weren't the only pair watching Luke and Leia that morning. At a private table on the Manarai Restaurant's rooftop sat a duo nearly as treacherous as Palpatine and Vader.

Leaning back to bask in the midday sun's rays, Xizor leisurely sipped a cocktail with Guri at his side. Long eyelashes shaded her synthetic eyes from glare as she looked through a slender telescope.

"The children are at play again," she remarked dully.

Xizor made no immediate comment. His face was the epitome of contentment, eyes closed and mouth slightly upturned.

"Don't you wish to see?" Guri prompted.

"Mmm, not this instant, my sweet," he purred.

"You seem underwhelmed by their presence."

"That's not it at all. I'm simply taking a moment to savor this. To stop and smell the roses, if you will."

"What roses?"

Xizor chuckled. "It's a figure of speech, Guri. A poetic turn of phrase. I'm pausing to revel in our exceptional fortune."

"I see," Guri drew back from the telescope. "To use another figure of speech, haven't you counted your chickens before they've hatched?"

That brought Xizor to sit upright again. "Very good!" he praised her. "You used that correctly. But no, I'm not celebrating prematurely at all."

"You are in my assessment. These children mean nothing to us yet. What leverage have we gained by observing them thus far?"

"Oh Guri, how you confound me!" exclaimed Xizor, shaking his head and grinning madly. "Even with the finest cybernetic programming money can buy, there are still many things for you to learn."

"Enlighten me, Xizor."

"It would be my pleasure. We may not know those children's names, but we know so much more. We know they are important to Vader."

"You assume as much."

Xizor rested a nonchalant elbow on the table. "You know Vader's character better than your own circuitry. Is there _anything_ in your memory banks that indicates he'd show benevolence toward children?"

Guri frowned, scanning her databanks. "No."

"Exactly. Two young children inhabiting Darth Vader's beach home is like a mouse dancing on an adder's tail! It violates natural law. It –"

"Xizor," Guri's tone cut him short. "Come look at this."

The Prince shifted over to squint through the lens. His one open pupil dilated at what he saw.

Two adults had joined the children, one of whom was not previously described in Guri's notes. Alongside her was the man known only as Starkiller; his smile flashed as brightly as the sparkling sand beneath his feet. He flipped and tossed the children like bags of flour, eliciting endless laughter from both. The woman looked on with open joy and wonder, clearly at ease with their interaction.

"Assuming the woman is their mother, might that be their father?" posited Guri.

Swiping the datapad from Guri, Xizor's fingers flew across the surface to retrieve something. _I have to find it… I swear I remember…_

And there it was – the five-year-old photo of Bail Organa's last jubilee celebration. The one Palpatine had shown four days ago to remind Vader of the Viceroy's appearance. A photo that, Xizor recalled, had evoked a potent emotional response from the Dark Lord.

But it wasn't Organa that Xizor sought this time. It was the brunette politician standing next to him.

The one whose sympathetic eyes and dimpled cheeks looked exactly like the ones Xizor saw across the water. The one, according to the photo's caption, was senator Padmé Amidala of Naboo.

That was a name he'd heard several times in the past. A basic holonet search yielded thousands of articles, most of them obituaries. Interspersed were various editorials from the Clone Wars years. Publicity photos of her with other dignitaries were a dime a dozen. Yet as Xizor browsed through them, he noticed a pattern. Every other image showed her in the company of at least one Jedi. And more often than not, that Jedi was Anakin Skywalker.

Skywalker. Phonetically similar to Starkiller. His subconscious had indeed been trying to signal something.

Narrowing his search, Xizor knit his hands together with intense interest. Amidala and Skywalker's friendship had been public knowledge, it seemed. Their professional and personal alliance was known to many. The senator attended every Jedi-related event that Skywalker did, and the young Jedi frequented political functions and rallies at her side. Both became influential icons during the intergalactic war.

And then, at its very end, they both vanished.

Amidala's disappearance was tragic, sudden, and very public: an open casket drawn through the mournful streets of Theed. Admirers from across the galaxy wept at her lifeless form, which showed the heartbreaking curve of a pregnancy never brought to term. Everyone's anguish doubled at this postmortem revelation.

Skywalker, meanwhile, went from being the war's poster boy to essentially having never existed. Xizor could find no record of his death. Nor could he determine why Imperial law prohibited anyone from speaking Anakin Skywalker's name ever again. What had this Jedi done to erase himself from the annals of time and become a curse upon himself?

Then, slow at first but swiftly gaining momentum, the pieces began to align.

Xizor hadn't lived to be 120 years old and Vigo of the Black Sun by being naïve, unobservant, and slow to catch on. Rarely did he need an interpreter for all the clues he collected. And this case might just be the easiest of all.

_Piece it together, Xizor… _

Padmé Amidala, not dead but very much alive… twin children in her care who looked to be five years of age… the three of them lodged at Darth Vader's private retreat… Darth Vader, who coincidentally appeared just after Anakin Skywalker left without a trace…

His hands shook with terrified wonder. How had he – or anyone else for that matter – not connected the dots before? It all seemed painfully, startlingly obvious now. And so did the fatal, ultimate advantage this would give him at last.

"No…" he muttered, finally answering Guri. "No, that is not their father."

"How can you be so sure?"

Xizor let the datapad fall to the table and stared at the lapping waves, entranced. "Trust me, it's not."

"Your expression implies you know who is."

"Perceptive as always, my dear. Are you ready to hear it?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Oh, because the truth is so deliciously scandalous that it might cause you to short-circuit."

"Doubtful. Only an exo-membrane breach can cause that sort of malfunction."

Xizor rolled his eyes. "You take so much fun away from times like these. But I'll tell you anyway. _Vader_ is their father."

Guri fixed him with a deadpan stare that dared him to take back his words. "There are more logical errors in that statement than I can compute."

"On the contrary, it's the most rational breakthrough I've had in years!"

"No one has ever confirmed that Vader is even human. Human_oid_, yes, but not necessarily human."

"Circumstantial evidence overwhelmingly says that he is," Xizor maintained. "Based on my findings, I am unequivocally convinced that Darth Vader is the former Jedi Anakin Skywalker. And that woman on the beach is his former mistress."

Guri raised a skeptical brow. "That's quite a presupposition. How do you intend to verify it?"

Xizor couldn't keep a vicious grin from spreading across his face. "That's where you come in, my talented assistant."

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	21. Ch 21: The Locals

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**Chapter 21 – The Locals**

Mid-afternoon sun bleached the sand under which Luke was being buried by his sister. Periodically he'd poke a finger or toe through, making her pile a grotesque mound of wet sand over the cracks. Padmé and Ainar couldn't help but laugh at the comedic routine.

"I wonder when they'll start to get bored with this," Padmé confided in Ainar.

"I doubt it will be anytime soon."

"I hope not. This beach is the best thing they've got."

"I wouldn't worry," Ainar stretched both arms over his head. "They've got me to entertain them, if nothing else."

Padmé smiled with a wince. "I'm glad you're here for so many reasons, Ainar. To be honest, I was starting to think he wasn't sending anyone."

Ainar arched an eyebrow. "To whom are you referring?"

"Don't be obtuse. You know who," she looked down at the sand.

"I'm not entirely certain what to call him either," he acknowledged softly. "I usually refer to him as 'son.'"

Padmé swallowed, glancing at him sideways. "I'm still in awe of the story you told me. How you survived all those years, alone… I'm speechless."

"Thank you. But I don't want your reverence, Padmé. I just want my family," he looked at the twins with affection.

"Is it what you hoped?"

"Yes and no. It's more, but it's also much less," Ainar answered honestly.

Padmé squinted at the horizon. "I know exactly what you mean."

A long minute passed between them. The twins' laughter drowned in the rhythmic rush of waves. For a moment, they were alone, two adults contemplating the impact Darth Vader had upon their lives.

"How are you holding up?" asked Ainar tentatively.

Padmé almost laughed, but refrained from being rude. "How do you think? We've been confined here as the galaxy's most comfortable prisoners. We don't know why he left or when he's coming back. And we have no idea what to expect when he _does_ return. Does that sound like the recipe for sleeping like a baby each night?"

"Luke and Leia seem to be sleeping fine."

"They think this is all a great adventure… a fancy vacation I've been saving up for," Padmé snorted.

"What's wrong with that?"

"It's naïve and dangerous! What guarantee do we have that he won't bring Palpatine back with him? Or that he's not setting up some elaborate trap for us?"

Ainar's expression shifted into neutral. "He isn't."

"How can you be sure?" she scoffed.

"I've spent a lot of time with him this past week, Padmé," Ainar hedged. "He's changing. The evil is slowly starting to drain from his soul."

Folding her arms, Padmé pressed her lips and scrutinized Ainar.

"You know where he went, don't you?" she accused.

His neck grew warm despite himself. "I'd be lying if I said no."

She didn't blink. "And you won't tell me."

Ainar's conscience buckled from having to choose between reassuring her and honoring his son's wishes. "It's not my secret to tell."

Her eyes kept burning a hole into his skull. "So I'm supposed to take your word for it that we have nothing to fear?"

"Not a thing," he met her eyes squarely.

Seeing the unwavering truth in his face made Padmé lower her defenses somewhat – but not altogether. "I believe that _you_ believe it's safe. But you could have been deceived. He's good at twisting the truth, Ainar!"

"Good enough to fool his own father? You forget I'm as Force-sensitive as he is."

Padmé rubbed her temples, trying to exhale her dull headache. "I want to believe everything is what it seems, I really do. But look at things from my perspective. Would _you_ be any less paranoid?" she pleaded. "After nearly being choked to death and hiding from him for five years, would you suddenly trust him just because some stranger told you to?"

Ainar's hurt expression made Padmé regret her choice of words.

"I'm sorry Ainar, you're not just some random stranger. But truth be told, even if Obi-Wan told me not to worry, I still would. That's what five years of living in fear does to you."

"No, that's what being a good mother entails."

She let a faint smile slip. "Thank you. You don't know how much I've doubted myself over the years."

"You shouldn't. Luke and Leia are thriving. It seems to me you've done everything right."

"Until now," Padmé grimaced. "Force only knows what will happen to us now."

"Again, I feel compelled to point out that the twins aren't worried."

"They've five! They're half aware of what's going on, at best."

Ainar chuckled to himself. "Half aware? You told me they knew who I was after meeting me just once."

Padmé stared at her feet, recalling the incident at Aldera palace with Bail and Breha. Luke had insisted that it was 'grandpa' who saved him from the short-tempered alien, and Leia concurred. Their assertions embarrassed her then, and their supernatural insight embarrassed her now – only because she did not possess it.

"They're young, but they're incredibly Force-sensitive," continued Ainar. "I'm not saying your concern is unwarranted, but if the three of us feel relatively at ease with him, doesn't that count for something?"

His point was well made, but even the most eloquent argument by the most accomplished speaker couldn't have earned her trust. Words would always be secondary to actions. Until Vader performed enough good deeds to atone for the past, she'd keep her trust on ice.

Padmé knew it could be months or years before it thawed. But she wasn't about to be rushed into this by anyone. Not by Vader. Not even by her own children or their grandfather.

"Trust isn't something I usually give to captors," she said tersely. "I'd much rather be mulling this over in my own home."

"Does your property have a view like this?"

"It's not that spectacular when I remember I'm being held against my will."

"Then don't think about it."

Padmé looked at him with incredulous scorn. "I think about it every minute! I can't count all the escape plans I've run through in my head. But without a comlink, we don't stand a chance of getting past the perimeter guards."

Ainar shrugged. "I'm stranded right along with you."

"And that doesn't bother you?"

"Not in the least!" he grinned up at the sun. "This is heaven after the last twenty-seven years. I've got sunshine, fresh air, and family. It doesn't get much better."

His simplicity of heart made Padmé fall silent. Ainar's mentality was astonishing, really. From what he'd told her, his shock upon meeting Vader had quickly been replaced by compassion. And he hadn't once regretted choosing unconditional love. His strength of character was at a level Padmé could only hope to emulate someday.

For now, she'd have to keep wading through fragmented dreams until it started to resemble reality. If she could even tell dreams and reality apart anymore…

"Having you here _is_ a blessing," she assented. "I'm grateful for the company."

"So am I. Feeling connected is so essential in this life," Ainar remarked. "And we're not the only ones who long for it."

Padmé gave him a curious look, sensing he had more to say.

"I can't tell you were Vader is right now, but I can tell you he needs to feel connected now more than ever. That's why he wanted me to give you this transmitter," he presented her with a handheld device programmed for non-voice communication.

"Oh," she accepted it hesitantly. "He… really wants me to stay in contact?"

"Very much so. Once or twice a day, if possible," Ainar confirmed. "It can be simple messages. Just tell him what the twins did, or what you had for dinner. Don't over-think it."

Padmé turned the datapad over in her palms, unsure whether she wanted to commit to this or not. Daily transmissions? Was it a good idea? Ainar seemed to think so. Besides, sharing Luke and Leia's adventures wouldn't jeopardize their safety any more than it was. And if she looked hard enough, Vader's plea seemed to channel straight through Ainar's eyes. The request was sincere.

"All right… I'll give it a try," she consented.

Ainar closed his eyes, smiling at the sound of Luke and Leia's voices drifting on the breeze. Minutes later, their sun-warmed hands tugged on his, dragging him toward another sand burial. Padmé laughed as he allowed himself to be covered from neck to toe, his gray-streaked hair catching grains of sand as it flew from the twins' shovels.

"Look Mom, Grandpa's buried!" they giggled when their task was finished.

"I see that! You two did a very thorough job!"

"Take a picture!"

Padmé blinked. "We don't have a…"

Ainar waved his head in the direction of his chair. "There's a camera in the front pocket of my bag."

Finding the compact lens right where he said she would, Padmé captured the scene with a few shots. All three Skywalkers strained their facial muscles to smile broadly for the camera.

"You're all a bunch of hams," she joked, changing her view angle.

"We're gonna bury you next, Mom!" Luke asserted.

"Oh, I don't know about that."

"You have to, it's your turn!"

"What if I get sand in my ears? I won't be able to hear you ask for dinner," Padmé teased.

"We won't get any sand in your ears!" Leia promised, doubling over with laughter.

"But it might get in my mouth, and then I couldn't _taste_ the dinner to make sure it's good!"

"That won't happen!"

"We'll be extra careful!" vowed Luke.

"Don't listen to them, Padmé… I have sand in every orifice above my neck!" Ainar joined in.

Padmé sidestepped Leia's attempt to grab her by the ankles, backpedaling with the camera still in hand. Leia then tripped and toppled over onto Ainar. While the goofy trio laughed yet again, Padmé held the camera up to her nose to snap the moment. She regained her balance, centered the image, and…

Nearly dropped the camera.

She saw the drowning figure a split second before Luke, Leia, and Ainar turned to look. Several hundred yards offshore, a pair of desperately flailing arms thrashed in the sea, and cries of panic bounced across the water.

Ainar broke free of his sandy tomb and torpedoed through the water faster than Padmé could speak. His powerful arms cut through the waves at top speed, propelling himself toward the victim as if it were one of the children. Padmé and the twins watched in tense captivation as he drew closer by the second. Painfully anxious seconds ticked by while they waited for his return, hoping it would be with a shaken but conscious person under one arm.

Soon he was visible again, splashing back toward them. His progress was slower this time, and as he drew near, it was clear why – he had succeeded in rescuing the woman, whom he dragged to shore with panting breaths.

Her blond hair, soaked to the scalp and littered with seaweed, spread across the sand as Ainar laid her down. Her breathing was quick and shallow but steady. Coughing up a mouthful of water, she rolled onto one shoulder and cleared her throat hoarsely. Padmé knelt beside her and held her hand, assessing her for any injuries.

"You're all right. Just take slow, deep breaths," she assured the woman, whose skin was alarmingly cold to the touch. "Ainar, I'll run to the house and get a thick blanket. Make sure she stays conscious."

"I'll do my best," he switched places with Padmé as she ran up the grassy knoll.

Luke and Leia's curiosity was, of course, at its apex in a situation like this. They leaned over the woman with prying eyes and very little inhibition.

"Are you okay?"

"What's your name?"

"Where'd you come from?"

"Did you swim too far out?"

"Were there sharks?"

Between interrogations, Leia snapped a picture of the woman. _Looks like they're doing a fine job of keeping her conscious_, Ainar mused. "Let her rest, kids. Give her some time to recover."

Sand clung to her tunic, which was plastered to every curve of her body. A body Ainar was trying valiantly not to ogle.

"It's all right," she said in a raspy whisper. "I'm Giri. I was out sailing when a gust of wind capsized my boat. I must have rigged it wrong…"

"Did you hit your head anywhere?" Ainar inquired, scanning her for bruises or swelling.

"I don't think so. I was very lucky," she rubbed the back of her neck. "Thank you for saving me."

"Grandpa's really brave!" Luke chimed in proudly.

"And a really good swimmer!" added Leia.

Intrigued, the woman cast scheming eyes upon the twins. "He's your grandfather?"

"Yeah!"

"You hardly look old enough to be their grandfather," she remarked, making him redden. She turned her attention back to the chatty children. "And the woman I saw a minute ago, is she your mother?"

"Uh-huh."

_This is too easy_, Guri gloated to herself. _How naïve they all are. How readily they offer up the information I seek within minutes of coming into their midst. Now only one thing remains to be known._

"And where is your father?"

Ainar was about to interject when Padmé came hustling back with a blanket in hand.

"Here you are," Padmé wrapped their guest in wool, trying to remain calm despite what she'd just overheard. She shot Ainar a warning look.

"I don't know how to thank you," Guri gripped the edges of the fabric. "I owe you my life."

"Let's bring you inside to warm up. We have tea and plenty of food if you're hungry."

Disheveled but stable, Guri let herself be led up to the house, playing the role of pitiful victim like a pro. Xizor was right to call her talented. Her acting skills were just part of the lethal edge she held over her adversaries. And based on what she'd seen so far, this simple family hardly qualified as adversaries. She'd have what she came for in no time.

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"Are you sure you don't want anything to eat?" Padmé felt like she'd asked it ten times since coming inside. Their guest had politely declined food or drink, insisting that all she needed was a nap. Padmé was standing in the doorway of a guest bedroom now, reluctant to leave "Giri" with nothing but a pillow and quilt.

"Thank you, but all I want right now is rest," Guri insisted, lying down on the mattress to prompt Padmé to leave.

"All right," Padmé withdrew slowly into the hall. "Let us know if we can do anything else for you. Except… we can't help you get in contact with anyone. None of our comlinks are working at the moment," she invented.

"That's no problem, I have my own. It's just a little water-logged. I'll adjust it when I wake."

Nodding, Padmé could think of no legitimate reason to linger, so she gently shut the door and rejoined the others in the sitting room. All three looked expectantly at her.

"She didn't want anything?" Ainar asked in disbelief.

"She claims she's not hungry."

"But she's gotta help us eat all that food!" Luke exclaimed.

Padmé sat next to him on the lounge sofa. "Looks like we're on our own with that."

The twins' faces were appropriately nonplussed, but Ainar's expression made Padmé do a double-take.

"What's the matter?" she probed.

Ainar settled deeper into the cushion and crossed his arms, frowning. "I don't know. Something about her seems off."

"How do you mean?"

"I can't quite put my finger on it. Actually, that's the problem – I can't sense much of anything from her, good or bad."

"Is she shielding her thoughts?"

He twisted his mouth. "It's hard to say. I don't detect any conscious resistance from her. There's just… nothing."

That _was_ odd, and for some reason, it reminded Padmé of another observation she'd made.

"Her skin still feels awfully cold. Almost hypothermic," Padmé remarked. "And she keeps turning down food. She should be weak and shivering but she's not."

That made Ainar frown more deeply. "Something's wrong here. I should be able to figure it out…"

"Did you ever encounter anyone in your travels you couldn't read?"

"No," Ainar shrugged. "Everyone gives off some sort of Force aura. Except…"

A chill vibrated down Padmé's spine when she saw the look on Ainar's face.

"Except what?" she gulped.

"Force…" he whispered, half horrified and half fascinated. "It couldn't be…"

"What? What is it Grandpa?" Luke and Leia begged.

Ainar shook his head, staring at visions none of them could see. "I've heard it was technologically possible, but I never thought the day would come when I saw it with my own eyes," he said with hallowed fear. "A droid so advanced that only the finest scans can detect that it's an artificial lifeform."

Padmé thought he'd lost his mind. "A _droid?_ You can't be serious!"

"Do you have an alternate theory?"

"I… well…" Padmé stuttered, certain she could invent something more credible than that, but coming up short. "Just because I don't have one yet doesn't validate your idea! I mean, look at her Ainar! You'd never get anyone to believe she's a droid!"

"It would explain all the abnormalities we've seen," he firmly insisted.

"But what sense does it make? A droid that sophisticated wouldn't fall victim to a sailing accident!"

Ainar narrowed his eyes. "My point exactly."

"What, you're saying she faked the whole thing?" Padmé balked. "Your theories are really getting wild now, Ainar."

"Until we can summarily rule them out, I say we operate by them," he advised.

"And treat an innocent woman like a threat? Great hospitality!"

"If you're wrong, Force only knows what we're making ourselves vulnerable to. If _I'm_ wrong, the worst we face are some ill feelings when she leaves. We should err on the side of caution."

"I still think you're overly paranoid."

"I'm surprised to hear that from you, of all people!" asserted Ainar. "This is Darth Vader's private home, Padmé. I'm sure he has plenty of enemies who'd love nothing more than to infiltrate it."

"Why make their move with us here?" Padmé questioned. "Wouldn't they wait until it's empty?"

"One would think," Ainar rubbed his chin. "Unless they're after something other than land…"

Padmé didn't have to ask what that might be. Both her and Ainar's gaze swiveled over to the twins, who stared back in clueless innocence.

"No…" Padmé's mouth fell open. "No, nobody knows they're his children! They'd have no reason to target them unless they knew. They'd have to know he was Anakin, and no one knows that except us and Palpatine!"

"If I were Vader's enemy and saw children playing on his private beach, I'd act first and ask questions later. The opportunity cost would be too great to resist."

His insight was starting to make Padmé hyperventilate. "Ainar, if what you're saying is true, we've let a very dangerous force inside this house…"

"Wait here," he commanded, stalking down the hall to Guri's room. What chance he stood against a droid with superhuman strength, he didn't know. He wasn't going to take the time to calculate his odds. All he knew was that his grandchildren were far too endangered for his liking. And he wasn't about to sit by while their unwelcome guest "napped" to her heart's content.

He had no lightsaber, no weapon beyond his bare hands. But he'd tear those ragged if need be. Whatever it took to keep that witch at bay.

Clutching the door handle, Ainar steeled himself to barge in and discover someone far less meek and helpless than whom he rescued. The moment of truth was at hand.

In a flash he kicked open the door. His murderous eyes found nothing but an empty mattress.

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Already halfway across the lake, Guri swam effortlessly back toward the Manarai restaurant. A cunning smile graced her lips as water splashed against her brilliant teeth.

It had all been easier than anticipated. Preying on humans' compassion and empathy never grew old.

She had been impressed at their ability to see past her façade. No one, not even Xizor's closest allies in the Black Sun, had ever divined her truth. That man and woman were more clever than they first appeared.

That didn't surprise her all that much, though. Given their relation to Darth Vader, it stood to reason they'd be extraordinary as far as humans went. And extraordinary they certainly were. Each piece of Xizor's deductions had proven true. The children were indeed Vader's. Vader was once Anakin Skywalker. The woman was their mother. And, an added bonus, the older man was their grandfather.

Vader's father.

The four most valuable pawns in Vader's life, all conveniently gathered in one place. A family reunion just waiting to be exploited in myriad ways.

And exploit it Xizor would. But not before rewarding Guri for her exceptional talent, which included eavesdropping on the Skywalkers through several walls. Vader's fortress wasn't nearly as solid as one might expect.

The Dark Lord's world was indeed made of cards, as Xizor poetically stated. All Guri had to do was return and confirm the Prince's power to blow it all apart.

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	22. Ch 22: Scalpels & Sith Alchemy

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**Semi-mature content warning. Probably not a big deal for most, but whatevs.**

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**Chapter 22 – Scalpels & Sith Alchemy**

Dusk tinted Rakata Prime in gray hues when Vader landed on the distant planet. The streets, bustling with the odd-looking Rakata people, were gray. The horizon was nothing but striated bands of gray, blending into the colorless clouds above.

All was gray from ground to sky. But nowhere was it more saturated than the room in which Vader soon found himself sitting.

The walls and floor were just two or three shades lighter than black. The only colors visible were tiny blinking lights on surgical equipment. Most blinked red, but blue and green were intermixed. It was all a jumble of fearsome-looking machinery and probes, some hanging from the ceiling, others bolted in place next to the operating table. A table that looked about as inviting as the one he'd laid on five years ago.

_It's different this time_, Vader tried to breathe calmly_. I'm choosing this on my own terms, not Palpatine's. He doesn't even know I'm here or what I'm about to do._

_If he ever found out…_

He extinguished the thought as the door to the surgical suite creaked open. He stiffened, watching and waiting for an ungainly Rakata to enter – the Dr. Korta he'd communicated with last week.

Instead, he found himself staring at an average-looking human who couldn't be a day over thirty. Dressed in pale green medical attire, the man cautiously shut the door behind him. Waves of fear radiated off him as he drew closer, datapad in hand.

"Good evening, Lord Vader," he greeted with trepidation. He almost missed the stool cushion when he sat down.

Vader was in no mood for pleasantries. "Where is Dr. Korta?"

"Dr. Korta transferred your case to me. He feels I'm better qualified since I know human physiology firsthand," the man explained. "My name is Kornell Divini, but I go by Uli."

Vader froze. He knew this man – or had been acquainted with him once. Uli Divini had served at a surgical outpost during the Clone Wars. If Vader wasn't mistaken, Barriss Offee had befriended him. His name arose often within the Jedi temple walls.

In order to neutralize this liability, Vader would have to proceed carefully.

"You know I am human, then. What else do you know of me?"

"Only the information in your file."

"My age and birthplace?"

"Your age is listed as twenty-seven standard years, but your birthplace is missing from our records."

_Good, the alterations Palpatine made still stand_. Time to test Divini further. If he failed, he simply wouldn't leave the room alive. "If I told you my home world is Tatooine, would that hold any meaning for you?"

Confusion clouded Uli's face. "Yes… how do you know where I'm from?"

Vader, in turn, grew equally confused. Uli hailed from Tatooine as well? He hadn't known that. "What region are you from?"

"Bestine."

The capital city. No wonder he appeared to be the result of a privileged upbringing. "Tell me, did you ever attend podracing contests as a boy?"

"Only once or twice," Uli found the track of this conversation increasingly odd. "They stopped holding them when I was about eight."

Vader quickly did the math. He recalled Obi-Wan informing him when the races had been cancelled. He'd been a padawan for just under a year, making him ten at the time. Which meant the surgeon sitting before him was all of twenty-five years old.

"You're awfully young to be assigned a case like mine," Vader critiqued.

"I graduated with honors from Coruscant Medical Academy," Uli defended, shaking off his intimidation. "I am a Captain in the Imperial Surgical Corps with five years of experience on the Medstar Four frigate. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I am more qualified than half the surgeons at this facility – which is why Dr. Korta chose me without hesitation."

Vader leaned forward, bringing a shade of fear back into Uli's eyes. "Technically qualified, perhaps. But are you prepared for the mental and ethical challenges?"

"What are you referring to?" Uli tried to keep his voice calm.

"The face you'll see if you're as good as you say you are!" hissed Vader. "_My_ face. Will you be able to maintain medical standards of confidentiality?"

"Absolutely. My record is clear of any lapses in judgment."

"Only because you've never had a patient like me," Vader said with chilling certainty. "I am warning you now, Divini. Your professional and personal integrity are about to be tested in ways you can't imagine. Are you still willing to accept my case?"

Doubt flickered across Uli's face, yet to Vader's amazement, he held firm. "If I can't perform my duty in extraordinary circumstances, I'm not much of a surgeon."

Vader admired the man's courage, whether misplaced or not. At least he detected no artifice behind Uli's statements. Though young, he was a medical prodigy, experienced with caring for severe war casualties. And enlisted with the Imperial Corps, no less. Aside from his age, everything made him the ideal candidate for this procedure.

Should he be inclined to expose Vader's secret at the end, Vader would make sure to know that before Uli himself did. And Vader would be in prime condition to do something about it.

"Your courage defies your age. I am impressed. But know this – I will be reading your thoughts constantly, and the moment you think of revealing my identity, you'll be dead. Is that understood?"

Uli swallowed the last of his fear. "Yes."

"Very good. You may proceed."

"All right," Uli collected himself, consulting his datapad. "I have Dr. Korta's notes here. He sent you the preoperative kit, correct?"

"Yes, and I completed each stage of it."

"And you're currently ingesting nothing but the electrolyte serum?"

"That's right."

"Good," Uli typed briefly on the pad. "Now on to the procedure itself. You've selected a wide range of options. You'll need to be anesthetized for over sixteen hours. Are you aware of the inherent risks associated with extended sedation?"

"More or less. I may not wake up."

Uli nodded soberly. "And when you do, there's no guarantee we'll have successfully operated on all the parameters you requested."

"Understood. Dr. Korta explained the risks to me."

Glancing down the list in front of him, Uli read quietly, pressing his lips. Something troublesome had crossed his mind. Vader could read the drift of his thoughts, so what came next wasn't a total surprise. Not that that made it any less awkward.

"Um, Mr. Vader, I see here that you've asked for full reproductive reconstruction," Uli cleared his throat. "I'm not asking this to be impertinent, but what are your… expectations with that?"

_Not impertinent?_ Vader felt like choking the man here and now, but somehow he restrained himself. "What part of 'fully functional' don't you understand, _doctor?_"

Sweat beads started appearing on Uli's forehead. "There are two things to consider. One is basic mechanics, so to speak. Another is plumbing, for lack of a better term. Are you looking for both or just the former?"

Vader realized the distinction Uli was making, and the choice wasn't necessarily as easy as he might think. No doubt Uli was asking because the combined procedure would be more difficult. Which, by default, carried greater risk of complications. He'd have to weigh that against the potential benefits and decide.

He was having difficulty doing so.

Because this decision shouldn't entirely be his alone to make. Padmé should have a say in this too.

The issue of fertility seemed so far beyond present concerns. In order to even approach that decision point, the full scope of surgery would have to go off without a hitch. And that was only half the equation. Convincing Padmé to resume their friendship would be a feat in and of itself, to say nothing of marital relations. She'd spat at the idea of lying with him again. What sort of miracle would he need to make her want more _children?_ A miracle too big to request on top of everything else, surely.

Maybe he should hedge his bets and pick the safer path – the one less likely to crush his spirit in the long run.

That was what reasonable thinking told him to do. But something other than reason formed his answer.

"I want both, if possible," he stated quietly.

"Very well," Uli tried to stifle images of Darth Vader seducing a woman. His professional poker face had never been more tested. "There are, of course, no guarantees. Your sperm count may or may not return to former levels, even with all parts restored."

Vader acknowledged this without a word. Uli cleared his throat again and scrolled to the bottom of the datapad file. And then a disconcerting frown creased his brow.

Before Vader could ask what was wrong, Uli was out the door, squinting at the pad as he tracked down a colleague. Ten minutes later he returned with a homely Rakata at his side. Neither wore an expression that put Vader's mind at ease.

"Lord Vader, I'm pleased to meet you in person," the Rakata extended his hand. "I'm Dr. Korta."

"Yes, I recognize you from our holo conversations," Vader nearly crushed Korta's fingers. "What's the matter?"

Korta's wide-set eyes trembled with apprehension. "Well, there's no easy way to say this, and it reflects poorly on this facility and its members…"

"Out with it!" snapped Vader.

"We lack equipment necessary for your procedure!" Korta gulped.

"_What?!_" Vader rose, towering over them. "You personally assured me you had all I require!"

"It was a clerical error. Our electronic inventory showed more ulium extract than we actually have. And with new restrictions on cortosis mining, we've lost our supplier! The Intradane laser won't work without ulium!"

The only thing keeping Vader from killing them both was a memory triggered by the word _cortosis_…

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_Vader took a closer look. "Those conduits will rupture so close to that reactor."_

"_Not if they're lined with cortosis ore," suggested Xizor._

"_Cortosis mining is illegal."_

"_In most systems, yes. But not on Helska."_

_Palpatine raised an intrigued eyebrow. "You wouldn't happen to own cortosis-rich land on Helska, would you Xizor?"_

"_Indeed. Black Sun controls one-third of Helska's mining operations."_

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"If it's cortosis you need to get ulium, I can find some for you."

Korta and Uli exchanged looks. "It's not that simple. As of this morning, our license to use ulium has also been suspended."

_Damn it, Palpatine! Your cursed laws and regulations are nothing but a thorn in my side! _

But this was no time to lose focus. Vader forced himself to breathe steadily.

"What does the intradane laser do?" he asked, hands on his hips to resist choking the doctors. "What role does it play in the procedure?"

"It's critical for pulmonary revascularization," Uli answered.

"In layman's terms, Divini."

"We can't heal your lungs and remove your ventilator without it."

_Then I may as well stay in this wretched suit forever_. Freedom from the control box mounted on his chest was a deal-breaker. If they couldn't even do that, the rest was a lost cause.

And all because the blasted intradane laser needed…

Vader's dismal train of thought halted. Just as cortosis had dredged up fragments of auditory memories, so too did intradane. Neurons flashed to resurrect an ancient echo from five years ago, on the very night he was entombed in his suit.

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"_Patient is stabilizing," a droid's metallic voice buzzed._

"_Are the artificial limbs ready?"_

"_Yes. Preparing to administer systemic analgesic now."_

"_No, give him nothing for the pain!"_

"_That violates standard medical ethics."_

"_As of today, this galaxy has a new code of ethics. Now do as I command!"_

_Pain. Excruciating pain that almost made Vader lose consciousness. Yet somehow he stayed awake to hear the rest._

"_Limb fitting complete. Preparing intradane laser for lung regeneration."_

"_Cancel that as well!" Sidious commanded. "I want a cardiopulmonary control box implanted instead."_

"_But sir, we possess the skills and resources to keep him from needing –"_

"_You will comply or be deactivated!" shouted the Emperor._

_Helpless against the deplorable choices being made for him, Vader went numb to the pain, slipping into a dark nebula of misery until rising again._

_o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o_

Funny how he'd buried it for five years, only to have it revived by a single phrase.

Intradane laser. Palpatine had had access to one that day – and prohibited its use.

Perhaps choosing between light and dark wouldn't be half as much of a struggle as Vader feared.

The time to plot his full revenge would come, but for now, a minor retaliation would do. He'd use the facility that made him a monster to make him whole again. They said the best revenge was living well, and he planned to do just that – at Palpatine's ignorance and expense. With Sidious occupied with the Death Star's construction, Vader might just be able to pull this off. It'd take a colossal effort to cloak his presence on the planet, but it could be done.

Pacing before the still-terrified doctors, Vader felt his control slowly returning. "What if I told you I have access to both ulium _and_ an intradane laser?"

Uli's skepticism showed. "Where might that be?"

"The Emperor Palpatine Surgical Reconstruction Center."

"The _what?_" Uli widened his eyes, bemused. "That's quite a mouthful!"

"Do not mock it," warned Vader. "It holds more state-of-the-art equipment than anything you have here."

"Then why not go there for the procedure in the first place?"

"I have my reasons! It is not your job to question my choices, but to honor them. And my present choice is for you to perform the surgery on Imperial Center."

Uli looked anxiously at Korta. "I'd still be operating without a license to use ulium."

Vader stepped closer. "As a Captain in the Imperial Surgical Corps, you have sworn to serve the Empire above all other interests. My orders supersede any licenses, or lack thereof."

The young doctor searched his mentor's eyes for counsel, but Korta made no contest.

"You'll protect my record and reputation?" Uli turned back to Vader.

"If you perform your duty well, your reputation will be cast in gold."

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Blanketed by the darkest of nights, Imperial City's skyline welcomed Vader and his entourage with chilly indifference. The shadows in the southwest corner of the palace district seemed darkest of all. It was there that the Dark Lord led Uli Divini's medical team, concealing their presence from the Emperor who slept just half a mile away. Doing so would soon exhaust Vader, but he'd soon be unconscious anyway. His Force signature should then fade enough to keep Sidious from detecting their operation – no pun intended.

There were too many high-stake pieces to this puzzle. Vader stopped juggling them halfway up the turbolift to the main surgery suite. Time to surrender himself to this, all or nothing.

Strange sounds emanating from the corridors he passed through. His skin crawled at the thought of Palpatine's Sith alchemy experiments left to fester. Force only knew when Sidious had last checked on them, and what he'd find when he did so again. Revolting creatures fabricated from dark matter and evil debris. Things too hideous to ever be shown the light of day.

Vader vowed there'd be one less monster of Palpatine's making by tomorrow's end.

The terrible legacy of this laboratory would soon be over. All he had to do was lie down on the same slab of metal as before and trust the outcome would be radically different this time.

And so he did.

He heard the shuffling and clinking of surgical instruments being set into place around him. The faint smell of latex gloves reached his nose. Cold, sterile air bit his skin as his armor was disassembled piece by piece. Blinding lights swiveled into position overhead, mercilessly illuminating the blisters covering him from head to knee.

He saw his horrid reflection in Uli's surgical goggles. And then, seconds later, he didn't.

He saw nothing for the next sixteen hours. But he heard plenty.

"_Whether you see it or not, you're changing. More than you realize."_

"_If the procedure fails, you must overcome selfishness to do right by your family. And if it succeeds you must do the same."_

"_Either you undergo an internal transformation despite no physical one, or because of one. Neither will be easy." _

"_You can't serve two masters, son."_

"_Your family won't automatically love you more if your body is restored. Nor will they love you less if it isn't."_

"_What they want is for your soul to heal – and that's something no doctor can help you with."_

Ainar's was the face Vader thought he saw upon waking, though he soon recognized it was Uli.

And Anakin Skywalker's was the face Uli recognized lying on the operating table.

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_I had to poke fun at the "Emperor Palpatine Surgical Reconstruction Center." A name like that is just asking to be laughed at.  
__  
Divini is another canon character I altered slightly. He was originally forced to serve on the 1__st__ Death Star and resented it, but here he shows more pride in his rank within the Imperial surgical unit. Ulium and the intradane laser are both invented, but cortosis ore is neither fake nor insignificant – it'll come into play later on._

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	23. Ch 23: Convalescence

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**Chapter 23 – Convalescence**

"Vader, can you hear me?"

Flat on his back, Vader blinked groggily. The outline of Uli's face came in and out of focus every few seconds.

"Yes," his lips felt leaden.

"Good. And can you count my fingers?"

Three digits appeared above his nose, then four, then back to three. Vader squinted and decided to go with the average. "Three, but they're blurry."

"That's normal. It will take a few days to adjust to the cornea transplants," Uli entered notes on his datapad.

Sensing an itch on his left arm, Vader made to lift his other hand, but panicked when he couldn't. Not even a single finger would respond to his request.

"I can't move!"

"We temporarily immobilized you from the neck down. If you're healing well enough by tomorrow, we won't repeat the dose."

_Force, I hope they don't. This is worse than being in that suit! _

That suit… he had hazy, choppy memories of it being cut and disassembled into a black pile, but it seemed as real as a dream. He couldn't tilt his neck to see what covered his body. Something enveloped his head, but it didn't feel like a helmet.

"Show me," Vader commanded, pulse quickening. "With a mirror."

Uli didn't need clarification. With the click of a button, a lever descended from the ceiling, bringing a rectangular mirror down with it. Uli rotated it so the angle reflected most of Vader's torso. The young doctor said nothing as his patient beheld his handiwork.

Thin gauze lay draped across most of his skin, which was pink and shockingly smooth. Not a single scar, blister, or blemish remained. Of that Vader was certain, even with blurred vision. It shocked him to the point of having to remind himself to breathe.

The miraculous didn't end there. Beneath those bandages were two brand new forearms with five flesh fingers attached to the palm of each hand. Vader could feel the warm flow of blood coursing through his fingertips. How badly he wanted to curl them, to feel the subtle brush of fingerprints against his new skin. They were incomparably beautiful. He'd never been one to idolize or romanticize the human body, but he just might have to start.

Uli adjusted the mirror to follow Vader's gaze. The lower half of his body came into view, covered in gauze just like the upper half. Whole legs and intact feet were what he found. And between those legs, too heavily bandaged to see clearly, was what he hoped to be the best reconstruction of all.

Not to discount what he saw when the mirror moved back up to his face.

Vader decided then and there that Uli Divini was a magician. But instead of making people vanish, he made them reappear.

What he saw brought tears to both eyes. Eyes that peered at themselves without the interference of a visor. Eyes that winced at the light bombarding their pupils, constricting from yellow irises spotted with faint flecks of blue. Eyes without eyebrows to crown them yet, yet that detracted little from the sight of his face.

_His_ face. Not the face he'd fused with his mask for five years. He had no words.

"As you can see, the operation was an enormous success," Uli said with well-controlled pride. "We used regenerated limbs made from the DNA you provided. Those are _your_ arms and legs."

And they certainly felt like it.

Vader's eyes roamed the bald scalp under his bandages. Uli anticipated his next question.

"Your hair should start to grow back within a week. We revived over ninety percent of your follicles."

Vader responded by simply exhaling.

"We'll monitor you closely overnight, but I don't foresee any complications. You'll receive nutrients intravenously for the next forty-eight hours," Uli stood and dimmed the overhead lights to a comfortable level. "Just rest and let yourself heal."

_Not that I have much of a choice_, Vader pondered, feeling a mild sedative enter his system. A blissful, paralyzed slumber overtook him within minutes. He didn't see the lines worrying Uli's young brow. Nor did he hear the doctor whisper quietly into the twilight of the operating room.

"I once knew you, Anakin. I pray that what I've done won't drive you further into madness, but release you from its grip."

Shivering, the hair on Uli's arms stood up. The weight of what he'd done settled into his bones. He'd just restored Darth Vader to prime physical health. The second-most powerful man in the galaxy would walk out of here feeling a hundred times stronger. And that could easily make him _the_ most powerful man – surpassing the Emperor himself.

Uli Divini prayed more that night than during the entire six years of his career.

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The second time Vader awoke after surgery was as disorienting as the first. His environment had changed. Instead of surgical apparatuses hanging overhead, recessed lights glowed softly through frosted bulbs. The color surrounding him in all directions was no longer slate gray, but teal blue. It felt like he was underwater gazing up at the sun.

To his relief and amazement, his neck muscles complied when he ordered them to move. Craning slowly to the left – the only direction he could currently go – Vader felt a dull ache throb in his shoulder, but ignored it when he discovered a window.

Horizontal blinds sat partially closed from top to bottom, obscuring a much of a view beyond the five-foot-square frame. But Vader could tell it was dark outside. Whether early morning or late evening, he couldn't tell.

Something shuffled on his right. A pair of anxious eyes came into view and then disappeared just as suddenly. Vader's babysitter soon returned with Uli, who shone a penlight into each of his eyes. Vader protested by clamping them shut.

"Take that away!" he tried to swat Uli's hand, but his nervous system only granted him weak thumb spasms.

"If you're going to be difficult and interfere with post-op care, we'll give you another paralytic dose," Uli said curtly. "We were about to let it run its course. Don't make us change our minds."

For once, Vader was in no position to rebuke the man. The joy of raw vulnerability had officially begun.

But that didn't mean he was oblivious to the silver lining. "I must be doing well, then."

"Indeed. All your systems are stable, and the grafts show no sign of infection," Uli held a sensor device a few inches above Vader's chest. "Your heart is slow but gaining strength. Brain waves are normal and there's no sign of imminent coma relapse."

Vader glanced back at the window. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Since this time last night."

Another twenty-four hours gone. Nothing compared to the recovery period that lay ahead, he realized.

"I'm hungry."

"You'll need to wait another twenty-four hours before starting solid foods," replied Uli. "Your stomach would reject anything you eat now."

Swallowing against the dryness lining his throat, Vader took the news in stride. He'd gone five years without normal food. One more day wouldn't be the end of him. Not the end at all. The beginning.

Vader soon became acutely aware of the tension in the recovery room. Sooner or later he and Uli would have to confront the obvious. _May as well get it over with now. Let's see what he's really made of_.

He craned his neck to stare Uli square in the eye. "I remember you, Uli. Do you remember me?"

Uli felt his extremities go numb. "Yes," he acknowledged.

"Now you understand why I swore you to secrecy earlier."

"You had good reason to," the doctor shifted uneasily. "Never in a million years would I have guessed it was you under that mask."

"And now that you know?" demanded Vader coldly.

"I will treat you as any other patient. The oath I took when I became a doctor is unconditional."

"You speak those words with false bravado. I can feel how tempted you are to violate your code of ethics," Vader gazed through Uli as he read his thoughts. "Two choices are eating away at you. You could kill me and forge the medical records to make it look like a post-op mortality. A credible outcome, given the complexity of the surgery. Or you could hold me ransom and get enough credits from Palpatine to live like a king the rest of your life."

Uli froze, shaken by Vader's assessment of motives he hadn't even admitted to himself yet. He broke eye contact with Vader, both ashamed and terrified of what the Sith would do with knowledge of these thoughts.

"I don't blame you. Anyone in your position would weigh the same options," Vader stunned him with empathy. "But I sense other things in you as well. You have enough integrity to withstand those temptations."

Uli couldn't believe his ears. Had Darth Vader actually _complimented_ him? On something other than his surgical skills?

"I… I do?" he blinked in awkward disbelief.

"I'm not in the habit of giving false praise."

_That's certainly true_, Uli reasoned. "Does this mean you won't…"

Vader knew exactly what he was asking. "Destroy you? Not unless you drastically change your character, which I don't foresee happening."

Relief flooded Uli's veins. To his astonishment, he saw measured respect in Vader's ochre eyes.

"None of us foresaw you changing either," he said as evenly as possible.

"No one knew me," spat Vader defensively. "No one knew anything, especially Obi-Wan!"

Uli flinched at the Jedi's name. "He disappeared… did you kill him?"

"Not yet. But his day of reckoning is soon," Vader narrowed his eyes. "Very soon."

Uli's stomach churned_. It's what I feared – I've strengthened and enabled him to commit even more heinous acts than before. Force, what have I done?_

"Why?" Uli dared to ask. "What will killing him achieve?"

"Reparation for what he did to me! He trapped me in that suit, Uli! He's the reason I spent the last five years in constant pain and misery!" Vader coughed, irritating the new tissue in his lungs. He ignored the voice that said the suit was more Palpatine's doing than Obi-Wan's. Obi-Wan was a more accessible target, all things considered. Vader would seize convenient revenge first, less convenient later.

"His death won't make the last five years disappear. Having this surgery was the closest you'll ever get," remarked Uli.

"Your opinion is neither wanted nor valued," Vader warned. "Do not forget your job, Divini. Stick to overseeing my physical recovery, nothing more."

Biting his tongue, Uli stood brusquely and checked the fluid level in Vader's IV. He deliberately refused eye contact with his patient before heading out the door, dimming the lights behind him.

"The paralyzing drug will wear off slowly over the next several hours. I'll return when you're ready to sit up and walk." _And Force help us all, especially Obi-Wan, when that happens_.

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Shards and figments of dreams floated through Vader's mind, slowly congealing into a single landscape. Waves of green appeared first, forming meadows like those on Naboo. Yet no flowers bloomed here. Nor did the sky resemble the soft blue gauze he remembered. Instead it was a strange shade between pale pink and brown.

Cresting the horizon were two figures, one leading the other. As they drew near, Vader's heart leapt when he recognized Shmi in front. Her companion stood directly behind her, face hidden from every angle.

Beaming at her, Vader drew closer, reaching to embrace her in the loose folds of his tunic. What elation filled him at the thought of feeling her warmth against his own after so long.

Yet he stopped short when he saw the look on her face. She appeared to be in no mood for a joyful reunion.

"Son." She stood with feet planted wide and arms crossed.

Vader was baffled by her coldness. "Mom, look at me! I'm healed. I'm reborn!"

"I see your body is healed. That's all."

"Aren't you happy for me?" he implored.

"I would be if I knew the transformation went beneath your skin."

Her words weren't making sense through the fog of his dream. "What more do you need?"

"It's not what I need, but what he needs."

Shmi took one step to the side and revealed the man behind her. Vader found himself staring directly into the ice blue eyes of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He didn't hesitate. Quick as lightning Vader reached for his lightsaber but found it missing. And then, raising both hands, his next instinct was lightning itself. Sith lightning.

It flared from his fingertips with violent, blinding voltage that almost threw him back. It sliced through Obi-Wan's clothes and singed him like toast. It engulfed Vader's soul with white-hot power, liquefying in his new veins and igniting his blood. The evil euphoria temporarily blinded him; when his vision returned, he saw Obi-Wan's lifeless form at Shmi's feet.

Her scream shattered his triumph in a single blast.

"ANAKIN!" she fell to the ground, cradling Obi-Wan's head. "How could you!"

Her behavior kept confusing him. "He was nothing to you, while I had a vendetta to settle."

"_Nothing_ to me?" she wept over him for a long minute. Then, prying herself away with difficulty, she revealed the deceased's face and buried hers in her hands.

Vader stared in mute shock. Lying in Obi-Wan's place was Ainar.

Shmi's disconsolate sobbing was the last thing he heard, and it rang relentlessly after he woke. His new heart almost pounded out of his chest as he bolted upright, gasping for air.

Within seconds, Uli's team raced into the recovery bay, poorly controlled panic filling their eyes. Darth Vader was mobile _and_ severely agitated. A bad combination before his surgery, and a lethal one now.

"Blood pressure is elevated!"

"Heart rate is over 120 beats per minute!"

"Emergency sedative, now!"

Uli's assistants scurried like ants in an upturned anthill, rushing around under Vader's furious aura. He was too distracted by afterimages of his dream to interfere with the sedative injection.

"Just lie back slowly," Uli coaxed, watching Vader's eyelids slowly droop. "You're safe here, nothing's wrong."

Vader kept breathing hoarsely even after lying down. His eyes, though drowsy, still looked haunted. "M-my father…"

"Just try to relax, you must have had a nightmare," Uli checked his patient's vitals again, relieved to see them stabilizing.

"I need him. Bring… him here," gasped Vader.

Uli passed a wary look among his assistants. "You can't have any visitors. I explained that earlier."

This did nothing to ease Vader's state of mind. Struggling against the sedative, his bare limbs writhed beneath the sheets. "Bring him… to me now!"

As his anger flared, so did Sith lightning. Uli and company jumped out of their skin when blue-white sparks shot from Vader's fingers, singing holes into his blanket. Uli couldn't move fast enough to inject another dose of sedative, the maximum allowed, into Vader's IV.

"I can't do that," the doctor's voice and hands shook. His knees felt like rubber, but somehow he stood standing as Vader finally lapsed into unconsciousness again. The three men breathed a collective sigh of relief, each having seen his life pass before his eyes.

_No, I definitely can't do that, _Uli mentally reaffirmed. _And even if I could, the last person I'd want to track down and meet is Darth Vader's _father!_ I can only imagine…_

"That was close!" he wheezed. "Too close. I need both of you to keep watch while I do some research. There's got to be a better way to keep him under control. We can't keep paralyzing him, or he'll never rehabilitate."

"You say that like it's a bad thing!" a shaken assistant replied.

Uli closed his eyes, forcing himself to regain composure. This was just what he'd feared. But he'd chosen this, and he'd be damned if he backed out now. He was in too deep anyway. What could he do, keep Darth Vader sedated and paralyzed indefinitely? Not in Emperor Palpatine's own surgical center, that's for sure. Sooner or later he'd come snooping around, and Uli wanted to be as far away as possible when that happened.

"We can work through this… we have to," he said for himself as much as them. "I have an idea, but I have to check something first. I'll be back as soon as I can."

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Had one used an x-ray telescope to see within the surgical center's walls, strange sights would have met their eyes. _Very_ strange. Stranger than, perhaps, even the Sith alchemy experiments inhabiting the west wing.

Seeing Darth Vader walking on bare human feet was odd enough. With each passing week, his steps grew less shaky and more confident as he learned to adjust his stride. The re-humanization of the galaxy's most feared monster was strange to behold. Yet Uli's team did their job as they would have with any other patient.

Which was made possible by the creature tethered to Vader's ankle.

Vader had woken to find the two-foot-long lizard napping on his stomach. He recognized it instantly. A ysalamir. The only creature known to repel the Force within a thirty-foot radius of itself. Uli paid quite the premium to get one delivered from the nearest intergalactic zoo.

And so it followed Vader wherever he went. If the Dark Lord so much as pinched its tail, it snapped at his fingers, threatening to pierce his new skin. The animal's temper was a perfect match for Vader's. And thanks to its presence, that temper was all Vader had at his disposal. No Force lightning. No telekinetic choking or mind manipulation. He was, for all intents and purposes, powerless. A normal, average human with his greatest strength in his biceps.

Six weeks passed. His hair grew. His limbs and joints began to function seamlessly. His eyes remained stubbornly yellow, but Uli swore he saw a few more flecks of blue by the time he finished rehabilitating.

Then again, that may have just been wishful thinking. Vader had been without his powers for so long that it was tempting to forget he ever had them. Working with him like this had shifted everyone's perception. By the end of the seventh week, Uli's staff no longer felt frightened to the point of nausea when they began each shift.

Curious things were happening within that surgical center. The galaxy was about to change dramatically, and only a handful knew it. Whether the universe was prepared for these changes remained to be seen.

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_It's funny how the name Divini is similar to Houdini. I realized that only after comparing the former to a magician._


	24. Ch 24: Prodigal

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**Chapter 24 – Prodigal **

Gulls caterwauled as the first rays of light hit the Great Western Sea that morning. They wobbled near the shore, leaving webbed footprints in winding patterns. Waves erased those tracks, receded, and soaked the sand dark again each minute.

Padmé stood watching the scene in a mild trance, mug of tea in hand. After seven weeks, she'd expected the view to become trite or boring. But it had become just the opposite. Not once had she found herself taking it for granted or glossing over it without appreciation. It was every bit as unique and stunning as the first day she'd seen it – if not more so.

Even though she wasn't viewing it alongside a unique and stunning companion.

That wasn't fair – Ainar was both those things. But she'd be lying if she said his company had been enough to keep her mind off their mutual relative.

Nor had the memory of their most recent visitor completely faded. Padmé's mind was on Giri when Ainar walked up behind her.

"Another beautiful sunrise," he sipped from his mug.

"Mm."

"Not impressed?"

Padmé blinked, coming back to the present. "Sorry, I'm not completely with it this morning."

Ainar studied her. "You're worrying again."

"I am not!" she blushed defensively, uncomfortable with his Jedi intuition. He'd been honing his skills and seemed to be getting sharper every day.

"Don't feel self-conscious. I'm worried too."

"You are?"

"How could I not? That woman was strange, no doubt about it," Ainar tucked an arm across his chest, frowning.

"And Force knows if she'll come back!"

"It's not Giri I'm afraid of returning. It's whomever she works for."

Padmé gripped her mug for dear life. "I have a bad feeling about this, Ainar."

"So do I," he said grimly. "Even with the new security patrol on the beach, I sense we're still vulnerable."

Though Padmé couldn't see them, several shadow troopers marched along the sand. Their boots left distinct impressions beside the gulls'.

"It's been well over a month… if they had something planned, wouldn't it have happened by now?" she postulated, trying to restore hope.

"I wish I could be sure. I don't feel the danger has fully passed."

Padmé dropped her head. "He needs to come back. Now."

Ainar wrapped a reassuring arm around her. "He will, very soon."

It was her turn to study him. "You're sounding more and more confident in your predictions. It must be an amazing talent to have."

"It is. Until he explained the potential power, I had no idea –"

Suddenly as pale as a ghost, Ainar stopped cold and almost dropped his mug. His hands shook slightly as he took one step away from the window, then another. Padmé feared he might be suffering a heart attack.

"He's here," he whispered, unable to focus his eyes. "Right now, walking down the path…"

Padmé didn't have to ask who. Father and daughter-in-law stumbled over each other in their race for the door. Somewhere along the way, they managed to shout Luke and Leia's names to summon them. The four housemates stood breathlessly in the front foyer. Even the twins respected the moment by not saying a word.

And what respect the moment commanded.

Low-hanging tree boughs blocked everything from view at first. Then a pair of black-booted feet appeared, slowly but steadily treading down the gravel slope. Two black-clad legs came into view next. Then a black belt, with two hands swinging to either side.

Hands covered in flesh, not Mandalorian glove armor.

It didn't register at first. Neither did the gray tunic tucked comfortably at his waist. And certainly not the fair-skinned neck and face atop it all.

Time stood still and collapsed in on itself. The world and the universe beyond shrank to a single point around Anakin Skywalker's fully human form.

Tears sprang to Ainar's eyes. Padmé's heart stopped beating altogether. The twins broke their silence with enough joy to fill an entire star system. And then, in the blink of an eye, they were all standing outside, breathing the same fresh air as Darth Vader. It felt like freefalling into a canyon with no parachute.

Luke and Leia's squeals fell on Padmé's deaf ears. Sight was the only sense working for her right now. Not even a sonic boom would have distracted her from his… her husband's… face.

A face that was smiling. Speaking. Laughing.

"Daddy! You look so different!" Leia's elated voice exclaimed.

"Where did you go?" pressed Luke, jockeying for room to hug his father's waist.

"Are you done wearing that suit forever?"

Vader beamed at them, thrilled to feel their warmth for the first time. "I went to a special hospital, and no, I won't need to wear the suit again."

"So you're all better?"

"Yes, Leia, I'm all better," he ran his fingers through her dark brown hair.

Her eyes twinkled in joy and wonder as she gazed up at his. "You look pretty, Daddy."

That earned a laugh from Vader and Ainar, who approached his son with no less awe than the twins. A hush fell over the universe when father and son met each other's blue eyes.

"Force…" Ainar breathed. "If your mother could see you now…"

"She can," Vader embraced him. Hard. Neither man's eyes were dry when they pulled apart.

Ainar shook his head in sheer amazement, taking in the flawless creature before him. "Do you feel as good as you look?"

Vader breathed in deeply. How he savored the taste and feel of air through his nostrils.

"Simply put, yes," he answered. "But I won't feel completely whole until I settle a few other things."

He leaned to see the figure standing behind Ainar. She stood half in the shade of a tree, unable to move any closer.

So he'd just have to be the one to move toward her.

"…Padmé?"

The twins broke their hold on him as he took one step, then another. A breeze rustled the leaves and shadows danced across their faces. Patches of sunlight jumped from his nose to her eyes and back again. Not a bird or squirrel rustled. Nature fell silent for this sacred moment.

Vader knew she saw him. Yet she seemed to be in some sort of trance.

"I did this for you," he stepped closer, palms facing outward in humility. "And I'd do it all over again."

Padmé's ears were working again, and the voice she heard made her catapult several years back. Suddenly she wasn't standing near the shores of the Great Western Sea anymore, but the shores of Varykino. Then she was on her balcony at 500 Republica, gazing into those eyes as he told her how beautiful she looked in her blue silk nightgown.

And then she returned to the present. As if the five gruesome years between then and now were simply eaten by time.

"Is it really you?" she whispered, afraid to speak louder for fear of making his ghost vanish.

Vader now stood within two feet of her, amazed she hadn't recoiled yet. That she was letting him get this close.

"See for yourself," he entreated.

She had no choice but to accept the invitation. Her hands rose on their own accord, pulled by unseen strings. Her fingertips hovered mere millimeters from his cheeks. She felt his steady puffs of breath on her wrists.

Both of them flinched when she laid her palms on his head. Exploring his skull, chin, and shoulders like a blind person mapping a stranger's appearance, Padmé felt the solid bone beneath the supple skin. There was, in fact, no armor. This wasn't a trick or Force illusion. All was as it appeared.

"How…?"

"There are some very skilled surgeons in the galaxy, if you know where to look," answered Vader, intoxicated by the aroma of her hair stirred by the breeze.

Padmé's mouth hung permanently open. "Of all that I imagined you doing while away… this… this is…"

"Literally the last thing you could imagine?"

She nodded dumbly.

"I thought it was impossible too. But seeing is believing… for both of us," he stated.

Something about his gaze was starting to make her uncomfortable, not unlike many years ago in her apartment. The unspoken solicitation in his eyes made her skin tingle and crawl at the same time. Instinctively drawing back ever so slowly, she tried to keep a neutral expression.

"Yes, it's remarkable. But what now? Do you plan to step back into our lives just like that?" having Ainar nearby gave Padmé the courage to speak thus. "Did you think absolution would be as easy as freshening up? That if you didn't look so frightening anymore, I wouldn't be frightened?"

He pressed his lips, face unreadable while she continued.

"I admire the effort you've made so far. Going through that procedure must have been painful and challenging. But to me, the face you've reconstructed is scarier than the mask you shed! Because it's the face I saw on Mustafar just before…" she choked on the memory, unable to say the rest. "Do you hear what I'm saying? This gift you went to so much trouble for… might not be something I necessarily appreciate."

She expected indignation. Inflamed pride. The usual Skywalker response. The one she'd seen countless times during their three years of living together. She dug both heels firmly into the dirt, bracing for it.

But all that buffeted her were salty wafts of ocean air.

Ainar read the situation and quickly took advantage of the lull. "Luke, Leia, let's go inside and leave your mom and dad alone for a few minutes. We'll have plenty of time to share with them later."

Sensing the mood around them as well, the twins made no argument and followed Ainar up toward the house. Padmé and Vader hardly noticed them leave.

A tsunami could've blown in from the coast and they might not have noticed.

"You might not appreciate it now. Not yet. But fortunately, this is a gift that's good indefinitely," he replied, baffling her with his smile. "Whether it's a month, a year, or a decade, it'll still be around, waiting for you. _I'll_ still be around."

"And who _are_ you exactly?" she pressed.

"Someone who'll do anything to prove myself as a new person."

Padmé wasn't impressed by his weasel word answer. "A new person on the outside, sure."

"_And_ the inside," he said earnestly, stepping closer. "Padmé, believe me when I say the last seven weeks felt longer than the past five years! The things I've learned about myself, the change in perspective I've gained... ask any of Uli Divini's surgical staff. They can tell you!"

"Wait… Uli Divini? The same young man we knew years ago during the Clone Wars?" Padmé's eyes widened. "_That's_ who operated on you?"

"Yes. He was among the first to see my inner transformation as well as the outer."

This changed things. Before being drafted into the Imperial Surgical Corps, Uli Divini was among one of Padmé's many respected comrades. She trusted his judgment and character implicitly. If, as Vader claimed, Divini could vouch for him, that was certainly worth something.

But she wasn't about to interrupt this conversation to contact Divini. She shouldn't have to. There should be more tangible, immediate evidence if the transformation was so stunning.

"That's all well and good, but I want proof _now_. Right here, right now," she demanded.

Vader's eyes twinkled, as if waiting to hear this all along. "Fine."

From his pocket he withdrew two handfuls of what appeared to be scrap metal. Between his fingers he jingled misshapen black and silver pieces Padmé couldn't identify.

"Do you know what these pieces are?" he inquired.

Padmé shook her head.

"Look closely. See these tiny shards of crystal?"

Peering forward, she nodded vaguely.

"That was once the crystal that powered my lightsaber."

She blinked, seeing the heap of junk anew. Those were the remnants of his lightsaber. Though she was no expert on the Force, she was fairly sure there'd be no reconstructing it now. Its components were mutilated beyond recognition.

"You… destroyed it?" she asked in confused awe.

"Just this morning. It's another gift for you."

Beckoning her to hold out her hands, Vader gently poured the scraps into her palms. She stared in shock as a few loose bolts and screws fell to the ground.

"Why?" Padmé prayed she already knew the answer, but had to confirm it.

He locked his eyes on hers. "If I'm going to overthrow Sidious, it will have to be without that weapon."

His words struck her completely dumb. She could only breathe and listen.

"Not only was it a quick channel for anger and wrath, but a symbol of what I was. I decided I want no temptations or hindrances from now on. So I pulverized it," he explained. "My best weapon is now my mind, which with your help and my father's, I hope to sharpen even more."

"To… overthrow Palpatine?" Padmé couldn't believe the words coming from her own mouth.

"As astonishing as it must sound, yes."

"How can you… when did you… what made you want…"

"I can answer all your questions easily. He lied to me, Padmé. He told me you and the twins died five years ago. There's no way he was fooled by your fake funeral. He did it to break and control me. And he had me believing that the suit prosthetics he gave me were my only chance at survival. Bullshit! Limb and organ regeneration have been around since the Kaminoans perfected cloning! But he kept it from me all these years!" he paced back and forth. "Force knows things would've been different had I known the truth! I'd never have sworn myself to him if I knew you were alive! I wouldn't have sold my soul if I'd known you were still around to share it with!"

Fissures were slowly forming in Padmé's stone heart. She watched passion overtake him and spill into the surrounding forest.

"At first I thought it was too late, all just a lost cause. But a good man planted a lot of sensible thoughts in my head, though I tried to resist them. He didn't give up on me. So I chose not to give up on myself."

Despite her best efforts, Padmé felt tears quivering along her eyelids. His speech was simple, heartfelt, and solid. Yet without a trace of his signature pride. In its place were very human, very humble emotions.

And that's when she knew she could rejoice.

The wetness of her joyful sobs poured down her cheeks and moistened the collar of his shirt. Five years of pain, betrayal, fear, and sorrow exploded from her petite frame, and his arms absorbed it all.

"Oh Anakin! Thank the Force!" the words tumbled out between sobs. "I… I was so afraid you were trying to take Luke and Leia away from me! I thought you must have had some sinister motive! But I was wrong, and you've returned at last… stars… I have my _husband_ back!"

He held her as tightly as he dared. "Yes, yes my love. We can all be a family now. On my mother's life, I swear I'll never hurt any of you again!"

Observing from a window on the main floor, Ainar felt the soothing wave of blissful reunification hit him. In seeing Anakin and Padmé embrace, he swore he felt Shmi's arms around him as well.

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The amber glow of a fireplace warmed the sheets in which the two lovers lay, inseparable and entwined in each other's arms. An hour had passed without a word being spoken by either. Crackling embers and the synchronized beating of their hearts was conversation enough.

Padmé lazily traced a finger down Anakin's bare chest, sighing to break the sweet silence. "I don't see any scars."

"Divini is a god. But you know that already – you experienced his best work tonight," he purred.

"Mm, remind me to send him a very expensive thank-you gift."

"I'll send him one too, as long as he keeps his end of the bargain."

"What bargain?"

"He swore to uphold medical privacy ethics and not share my surgery with anyone."

Padmé tilted her chin up toward his face. "How long are you going to keep it a secret?"

"I don't know," he sighed. "For the time being, I'll have to keep wearing the suit around Imperial City. Nobody can know yet, especially Palpatine. If he discovers what I've done, things could get very ugly very fast."

Anakin's foreboding words made Padmé's stomach turn. "Where does he think you've been all this time?"

"Hunting Jedi."

"And if he finds out you haven't killed a single one?"

"That won't enrage him half as much as my deceiving him. But come to think of it, he _let_ himself be duped. He's been too interested in his new pet Xizor to care one way or the other," Anakin snorted.

"Xizor? Prince Xizor?"

"The one and only."

Padmé's brow furrowed. "He's incredibly dangerous."

"Please. He poses no threat."

"Maybe not by himself, detached from his network. But he has powerful, lethal allies in every system, Anakin! Surely you know that!"

"Padmé, I've been acquainted with that piece of Falleen trash for several years. His most 'lethal' weapon is his sharp tongue. He may have connections, but all the connections in the galaxy can't replace the Force running through your veins."

His overconfidence concerned her. "I don't like that Palpatine's joined forces with him. Not one bit. When you said you'd overthrow Palpatine, I was impressed. But Palpatine _and_ Xizor?"

"As long as I act before they dissolve the Senate, it should work."

Padmé shot straight up in bed, clutching the sheets against her bare skin. "They're going to dissolve the Senate?! When were you going to tell me that?"

"Right now, I suppose," Anakin pursed his lips. "I guess I hadn't mentioned it since I'm sure they won't succeed."

"Well I'm glad you're so certain, but we need to alert them!" she fumbled with a robe and grabbed a comlink from the dresser. Punching in Bail Organa's coordinates, her hands shook as she waited for him to answer. It became clear after five minutes that he wasn't going to.

"This isn't good… he's not answering!"

"Padmé, calm down! It's the middle of the night on Alderaan. It can wait until morning."

Sitting back down on the edge of the bed, Padmé took a few deep breaths. "Sorry, today's just been intense. My emotions got away from me."

"I understand. It's all right," Anakin acknowledged. "Get back in bed so we can finish where we left off."

"Just tell me you won't try to take Palpatine and Xizor alone."

"Of course not. I have my father."

"That's it? No offense to Ainar, but you could use a few political minds on your side."

Anakin knew exactly what she was suggesting. "Organa and his cohorts?"

"For starters."

He laughed sardonically. "You think they'd actually trust and want to help me?"

"If I assured them, yes."

Anakin cocked an eyebrow. "I'll consider it."

"Good. Someone with lightsaber skills might be useful too. You have good reasons for not wielding one, but I'd feel a lot better if someone had your back."

"You want me to train Ainar?"

"No… I was thinking of someone already well trained."

Again, he caught her meaning within seconds. He dropped eye contact with her instantly. It was one thing to ask him to ally with Organa. What she was asking now was... He'd only just recently derailed his plan to kill the man. To go straight from that to reestablishing their partnership would be quite the leap.

"You know who I'm talking about," Padmé pressed.

"You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?"

She was tempted to smile but didn't. "No, I'm not."

Anakin leaned forward and massaged his forehead, feeling a massive headache coming on. "What makes you think he'd want anything to do with me again?"

"Just tell him what you told me this morning. If it was enough to win me over, he won't be far behind," Padmé encouraged.

"I guarantee it won't be that easy."

"It's worth a try, isn't it? Nothing ventured, nothing gained… and having Obi-Wan at your side would a tremendous gain when you take on Palpatine and Xizor."

Anakin sighed deeply. "That it would be. But he'll take one look at me and brandish his lightsaber before I can say a word."

"And when he sees you're not defending yourself with one, he'll pause to listen."

Her points were valid yet still Anakin hesitated. He wanted to have faith in Padmé's judge of character, yet she _had_ fallen in love with him during his turbulent years, after all. What if she was off with her judgment now as well? Would her optimism be enough to salvage his relationship with Obi-Wan?

Maybe her optimism wasn't the key. Besides, she'd been plenty pessimistic when he came back into her life several weeks ago. Something greater than the two of them mended their rift. It had to be the Force. Why would it patch one hole but not another? Padmé was right – his conversion of heart held just as much merit for her as it would for Obi-Wan. It had to. Besides, what was one more colossal leap of faith on top of all the rest? Accepting Ainar, Padmé and the twins, the surgery, committing to defeat Palpatine… speaking to Obi-Wan seemed relatively minor compared to all that.

"Where can I find him?"

"In the Gallo Mountains on Naboo. I'll show you on a map."

At some point while Padmé showed him the route, the last flecks of yellow vanished from Anakin's eyes.

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_Now that's what I call a homecoming. Hope it didn't feel too contrived... I just figured it was time for things to take a positive turn and relieve some of the tension/suspense. Not that there won't be more to come... _

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	25. Ch 25: Paradise Lost

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**Chapter 25 - Paradise Lost**

Three days was the most Anakin could spare before departing for Naboo. Three days, which felt like three hours to the members of his household. Far too little time for any of their liking. But it was a small and necessary sacrifice to secure the galaxy's safety.

Anakin had taken full advantage of every waking moment, reveling in the twins' company and that of his wife and father. The atmosphere within the former Darth Vader's retreat was radically different than ever before. Never was it to return to the days of morose quietude. Gilded with the armor of unconditional love, the Skywalker family was intact, harmonious, and invincible. Three days went surprisingly far in healing years upon years of separation and misfortune.

On the morning of his departure, Anakin had reluctantly bid his children goodbye and plotted his voyage. He had a script prepared for when he saw Obi-Wan face to face. More than likely, he'd throw it out the window when the time came, but having it in the back of his mind was comforting.

Comforting too were the transmissions Padmé had shared with him the night before. They were backdated several weeks, having failed to transmit during his recovery. Video messages from the twins made him grin shamelessly. Their innocent, heartfelt sentiments of missing him brought tears to his clear blue eyes.

Not comforting, however, was the message Padmé had saved for last. It contained a distraught account of an uninvited guest who'd identified herself as Giri. Anakin stared at the photo Leia had taken of her – not because she was beautiful, but because her features struck a warning bell.

_I could almost swear I've seen her before… I just can't place it…_

He'd soothed Padmé's alarm as best he could, but the truth was, both of them would feel safer with Obi-Wan in their company.

Obi-Wan _had_ to return with Anakin. Too many things rode on that outcome for it not to happen.

So that morning, Padmé kissed her husband passionately for good luck. Then she gasped in horror as he reached inside a duffel bag, withdrew his old suit, and stoically began to put it on.

"What on earth are you doing?!" she cried, feeling like her brain might have an aneurysm.

"Keeping up appearances," Anakin deadpanned. "I have to do this, or I don't stand a chance of taking Palpatine and Xizor by surprise."

She still felt sick to her stomach. "That's absolutely awful!"

"It's really not that bad. A little warm, but I can handle it. It feels a million times better than it did the past five years." He snapped the Mandalorian gloves into place over his wrists, flexing his fingers before reaching for the helmet. He tucked it under one arm and looked compassionately at his stricken wife.

"I thought you said you'd never have to wear it again!" insisted Padmé.

"Not for physical reasons, but for political ones, unfortunately," Anakin clarified. "No one can know anything's changed. I need them to think I'm exactly the same, both inside and out."

"But you're not," her voice wavered, as if suddenly uncertain.

"No," he reassured. "And that's true no matter how long I wear the suit. It can't possess me and turn me back to the dark side. It's just fabric and disconnected electronics, Padmé."

Anakin's smile was empathetic and genuine, but it looked unnatural above his broad shoulder armor. It was a good thing they'd already exchanged their goodbye kiss; there was no way Padmé would accept one now.

His luggage was relatively light. His course was laid in. And his family was prepared to wait and pray ceaselessly until he returned.

And in a distant system, his old mentor unknowingly awaited an epic reunion.

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Xizor had been busy. Perhaps busier than he'd ever been. And after running the Black Sun for almost ten years, that was saying something.

He had Vader to thank for the lack of dull moments. The past seven weeks had been delightfully hectic and overloaded. What he'd extracted was well worth the long nights and near-intravenous dependence on caffeine.

Searching the holonet archives confirmed everything he already knew: Senator Padmé Amidala and Jedi Anakin Skywalker were known to fraternize heavily during the Clone Wars. A minority of writers speculated that their relationship wasn't just platonic, which led to more salacious gossip when the senator's wardrobe stopped being form-fitting. Most of the media, however, kept a professional distance from the topic, respecting Amidala's reputation as well as her Jedi companion's.

All the respect in the galaxy couldn't save her from dying, however. The funeral footage was quite somber. Except it wasn't real. Which begged the question: why would the good senator, pregnant, fake her own death and abscond with the children? The answer: because it wasn't mere chance that Anakin Skywalker's disappearance coincided with Darth Vader's emergence, which coincided with Padmé Amidala's untimely demise.

The pieces couldn't fit together more perfectly. Xizor had everything he needed.

Or so he thought before the purchase order reports appeared on his desk.

Orders for specialty medical supplies shipped to the surgery center he owned on Rakata Prime, signed by an unknown customer. Stranger still, a sizeable order of cortosis ore sent to the Emperor Palpatine Surgical Reconstruction Center. All of which was purchased from his companies within one week of each other.

The same week Vader had conveniently started freelance Jedi hunting.

Neither Xizor nor Palpatine had heard from the black-clad Sith in two months. Again, likely not a coincidence. Xizor was quickly learning those didn't exist when it came to Vader.

Xizor was no fool. If anyone had need of specialized medical equipment, it would be Vader. And never would he be in need of them more than now, after being reunited with the family he'd presumed dead. Talk about the perfect impetus to follow through on old resolutions – like total body reconstruction, for instance. That was just one example.

An example Xizor was willing to bet all his chips on.

He had no definitive proof yet, but the circumstantial evidence was enough. Guri's surveillance of Vader's retreat brought news that the dark lord's shuttle arrived and then left again just three days later.

And while the Sith was away, his nemesis would surely come out to play.

The time to strike was now. Xizor decided the family Vader left behind wouldn't be there when he returned.

Killing them wasn't on the agenda – not yet, anyway. Far too much fun could be had before that point. Holding them hostage and manipulating Vader might just be the best entertainment the Prince would ever have.

Vader's security perimeter wasn't quite as impenetrable as he'd have everyone believe. It took Guri a matter of hours to analyze its structure – and weaknesses. As she'd already proven, its biggest vulnerability was the seashore. A few choice favors called in here and there, and Xizor had a platoon of shadow troopers at his disposal. Xizor's rate of pay was ten times Imperial wages. For that number of credits, they'd willingly risk step into the viper's lair.

The rest was relatively easy. Cutting fiber-optic lines, neutralizing the shield barrier in places, and then seizing the mansion like it was child's play. It all went down before Xizor's stomach grumbled for dinner that evening.

_Amazing… even Darth Vader can be outwitted when one is sufficiently motivated_, the prince gloated to himself, watching through binoculars as the hapless family members trudged through the sand, bound and gagged. Shadow troopers led them toward a submarine portal a few hundred yards out.

Fifteen minutes later, he paced on damp planks of a hidden maritime dock beneath his restaurant, green skin tingling when he saw the vessel breach the surface. He'd have traded half his wealth and power for this thrill of having Vader's closest relatives in his possession.

Seeing them in person at last, there was no denying they were indeed his relatives. The older man bore the same striking features as Anakin Skywalker, and the young boy would someday grow into them as well.

But it wasn't the males who caught and held his attention. It was Vader's wife. The photograph Xizor had seen hardly did her justice. No wonder Vader had been consumed by vitriol all these years, if _this_ was the creature he thought he'd lost forever. Xizor could well imagine going half mad over such a loss.

"Welcome, Skywalkers," he purred, gesturing for the troopers to disperse for a time. "I am Prince Xizor of Falleen. You are to be distinguished guests at my palace."

"I know who you are, Xizor," Padmé boldly spoke. "What have we done to deserve this 'honor?'"

Xizor smiled lecherously. "In your case, simply being Darth Vader's beloved. And the rest of you, his flesh and blood."

A rock crashed to the pit of Padmé's stomach. Time to think fast.

"What are you talking about? We're no relation to him!"

"Please, beautiful lady, don't patronize me. I know everything! You are the former Senator Amidala of Naboo. And these are your children with Vader. Standing behind you, looking rather constipated, is Vader's father. Correct me if I'm wrong – wait, don't bother. I know I'm not!" His teeth gleamed triumphantly in the dim light.

Padmé's blood ran cold. Why, oh why couldn't Anakin have heeded her warning about Xizor? Not that it would have changed his plans… they'd still need Obi-Wan to get them out of this mess.

Xizor sauntered closer to her. "I don't blame you for denying involvement with Vader. He's hardly the man you fell in love with. You deserve someone far less hideous… someone refined, who doesn't debaucher his wealth and power. Someone with finer tastes," his tongue almost flicked out like a snake. It made her skin crawl like a million ants covered it. "Don't worry, we'll have plenty of time to get to know each other."

_Worry? Why would I worry? There's nothing terrifying about this turn of events… nothing at all… _

"Now, if you'd be so kind as to follow me, I'll show you all your new accommodations," the prince invited with exaggerated hospitality.

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A well-disguised spring in Xizor's step carried him through the palace district that evening. After securing his "guests" in the uppermost level of his palace, he was off to meet with Palpatine. He still hadn't decided how much, if any, information he'd disclose to the Emperor. Revealing only pieces of the truth might snowball into more if he wasn't careful. To tell Palpatine that Vader's family was alive would invite a flurry of questions he didn't want to necessarily answer – especially questions concerning that family's present whereabouts.

That was the ace up Xizor's sleeve. And he needed to hold his cards close to his chest to make this all unfold in his favor.

Oh, the fun he could have with this… the possibilities were practically endless. Extortion _had_ always been his preferred method of manipulation.

Good thing he was well-practiced in it, because the time to execute it was suddenly at hand.

Barreling around the corner, almost crashing full force into Xizor, was Darth Vader himself.

They shuffled a few awkward steps to regain their balance, and then the animosity set in, frigid as ever.

"Out of my way!" snapped Vader, adjusting his belt.

"In quite a hurry, I see! What's the rush?"

"None of your business!" Beneath the helmet, Anakin was fuming. As if the day hadn't been awful enough! Discovering a fuel line leak on his way out of Imperial City, searching for a replacement part nobody seemed to have in stock, and now this. Was the entire universe conspiring against him?

Based on what Xizor said next, apparently it was.

"You'd be surprised how much of your business is now my business, Vader," the green-skinned prince crossed his arms smugly. "When was the last time you spoke with your family?"

Not.

Good.

Anakin's heart plummeted straight to the bottom of his boots.

_He knows…_

Nothing like high-pressure stakes to test his acting skills. Thank the Force his horrified expression was obscured.

"You're a fool. I have no family, Xizor." Anakin was grateful, too, for the voice box. It gave his faltering voice power.

"Really? Then I have four people in my palace all suffering from the delusion that they're related to you. How very odd!"

If not for the suit's support, Anakin would have fallen to his knees.

_This can't be happening. He's bluffing… he has to be._

_But how would he know there are four of them… unless he'd already been spying on the retreat? Oh, Sith… he's smart enough to do some digging and piece it all together. And the minute I leave, he makes his move. What a coward! What scum! I should end him here and now!_

_No… Darth Vader would choose that. The easy way out. It would be just as cowardly. Remember who you're doing this for, Anakin. They need you to stay strong now more than ever._

"What do you want?" he surrendered.

Xizor laughed. "Oh, many things. I am a man of varied tastes, Vader. But I assume, in this context, you're asking what I want in exchange for their lives?"

_Resist the urge to tear his mocking vocal cords out of his throat right now_, Anakin insisted to himself. He nodded without a word.

"Yes, well I'd hoped to have more time to refine the details, but here you are now! It would be rude to keep you waiting. So let's see," Xizor rubbed his chin, enjoying this far too much. Vader was a pitiful mouse squirming beneath his thumb. "I've had my eye on some cortosis ore deposits on Tatooine. A planet you know quite well, no?"

Anakin's stomach churned. _He's done his homework all right_. "You could say that."

"Then you're also familiar with a moisture farm belonging to the Lars family."

"I am."

"Then you know right where to go!" Xizor rubbed his hands greedily. "I've been working on a deal with Jabba the Hutt for some time now, but he says his agents have gotten nowhere. Owen Lars is quite the stubborn man! I was thinking he might be less obstinate with _you_ leading negotiations."

"I see."

Anakin processed Xizor's request. All he had to do was convince Owen to sell the farm to Jabba. How hard could it be, as long as he explained Padmé and the twins' lives were at stake? Owen might be stubborn, but he wasn't coldhearted. He'd sell in a heartbeat for their sake.

"Consider it done," he consented. "So when the contract is signed, you'll release them?"

"Them? You mean your father, wife, and children?" goaded Xizor. "Come Vader, you've always been one for precise communication! Don't be so vague."

Anakin curled both fists. If anyone could tempt him to fall back to the Dark Side, Xizor was surely the frontrunner. Every line that came from his condescending lips was designed to rile and provoke him. And to what end? To spark a fatal confrontation? Xizor had to know he wouldn't survive it. Was he suicidal? Or was he secure in knowing that Palpatine would punish Vader for destroying his pet?

Speaking of Palpatine…

"There's something I don't understand, Xizor. Why haven't you told the Emperor and gotten what you've always wanted – me dead?" Anakin inquired.

"I'll refrain from telling Palpatine if you fulfill this mission," bargained Xizor. "You'll have paid the ransom for your family _and_ proven your loyalty to the Empire – something you'd better do if you know what's good for you."

That sounded odd. "Excuse me?"

Xizor leaned in, eyes cold as steel. "Did you really think you could order such conspicuous amounts of supplies from _my_ companies without me noticing? Please, Vader. I know you haven't been off hunting Jedi the past two months! And I'd wager you look a lot different underneath that suit than you used to!"

That was it. The final blow. There was nothing Xizor didn't know. He held all of Anakin's vulnerabilities in the palm of his green hands, ready to crush at whim. It didn't really matter how the Prince had learned all that he had. He possessed Vader's most intimate secrets, and that made him a thousand times more dangerous than he'd ever been before.

If Anakin made the slightest misstep, took the smallest risk or underestimated his foe for one second… he'd lose everything. This time permanently. There'd be no second chances or coming-back-from-the-dead miracles with Xizor holding the trigger.

"Is this all to avenge Falleen?" Anakin asked quietly.

"I wouldn't go to such great lengths for any other cause. I've been waiting to gain the upper hand since before I built my palace next to yours, Vader. Justice will be mine!"

"And when you have it, this feud between us will end?"

"Well, I think that would disappoint Palpatine. He enjoys our banter," a bemused Xizor replied. "But if I'm honest, it is growing a little weary. I think it's time to let a new chapter begin." _A chapter where you're out the picture once and for all. Our feud would be over then, wouldn't it Vader?_

"Then let it begin," Anakin said with flat resignation.

"Excellent! You know what to do," Xizor stepped aside to let Vader pass. "I trust I'll be hearing from you very soon."

"I'll head to Tatooine as soon as my shuttle is repaired."

Sinister victory shone in Xizor's eyes as he watched Vader walk defeated down the sidewalk.

"Oh, where is my head? I forgot to mention one thing," Xizor feigned thoughtlessness. "If for some reason your relatives aren't as cooperative as you expect, you will eliminate them. But look who I'm telling! _Darth Vader_ doesn't need to be reminded to get the job done in any way necessary, does he?"

Anakin tried to keep his stride steady, but the urge to reach back and silence the Prince forever was almost overpowering. _How does he always know how to get inside my head? Curse him!_

"No reminder is needed," he breathed. "Now leave me to my business! You'll get what you want, _Prince_."

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_Aaand it finally happened. Apologies to those who didn't want it to... it makes for more drama and suspense. I had to do it. :X_

_Stay tuned, there's plenty more where that came from!_

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	26. Ch 26: Unmasked

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**Chapter 26 – Unmasked **

The next sunrise jettisoned Anakin's shuttle like a cannonball.

Despite traveling far above regulation speeds, the route from Imperial Center to Tatooine had never felt longer. A man could lose his mind on a mission like this.

And if he wasn't careful, that's just what might happen.

_Force… how did my father survive over two decades in space? Where's his fortitude when I need it?_

That was one drawback of renouncing the Dark Side. It seemed like Anakin had to start at square one with regard to mental focus and discipline. He had to break the five-year-long habit of relying on Sith logic at every turn. It was mentally exhausting and emotionally harrowing. He'd feel clear-headed one minute and crippled the next. Sometimes it felt like his only grip on reality was the one he had on the steering controls.

The trouble was his mind kept flipping between the two sides of this situation.

What Xizor had asked of him was, in theory, quite reasonable and easy to fulfill.

Yet it was _Xizor_ who had asked it of him. Xizor, who held enough information to undo Anakin in a single swipe.

So he had something to be grateful for, yet it contained a time bomb waiting to detonate.

Anakin cursed his luck to the ends of the galaxy. His life hadn't exactly been a fortunate one up until this point, but running into Xizor last night was just too much. If he'd only taken a different path from one repair shop to the next, he could be heading toward Naboo instead of Tatooine. He could be on his way to securing a crucial alliance instead of following the tug and pull of Xizor's puppet strings.

His luck had officially run out. It had taken all of twenty-seven years to run dry.

He should have known it could only get worse, not better. The joy of his surgery and reunion were never meant to last. He owed a perpetual penance to the universe for what he'd done the past five years. He'd earned himself a debt no man could ever repay, no matter how sincere his intentions or turn of heart. Some choices were too depraved to ever be redeemed.

He was the Chosen One, all right. Chosen from birth to suffer and never be at peace for more than a few minutes at a time.

That wasn't just his birthright, but that of his entire family. A family scattered and battered because of him. First his parents, torn apart because of him. Then his wife and children, more innocent victims of his cursed soul. Everyone he came into contact with turned to dust.

And soon they all _would_ be dust, quite literally. Anakin didn't believe for one minute that Xizor would honor his agreement. The Prince would find a loophole, a contingency to either delay releasing them, or just arbitrarily decide to kill them anyway. Xizor had as much moral deficit as Darth Vader – which was why they'd made such worthy adversaries. They'd shared the same blackened soul and could predict each other's next moves with stunning accuracy.

What could Anakin do but leap through the hoops Xizor placed in front of him? Even knowing the futility of it all, he had no choice. To resist would only expedite the inevitable.

He'd buy as much time for himself and his family as possible. Maybe somehow, something would turn up…

But how that could happen without Obi-Wan's help, he hadn't a clue.

Maybe he could take a detour to Naboo on his way back from Tatooine. No… hiking into the Gallo Mountains would take at least two or three days, then another two or three to trek out, not counting the time it'd take to convince Obi-Wan to come with him. A full week could pass during that "detour," and that was far too long not to raise Xizor's suspicions.

Suspicions go up, family goes down. Anakin could count on that.

He'd have to go straight to the Lars and back. No diversions, no improvised wilderness adventures. Just business.

Business that was finally about to be underway. Tatooine's arid sphere at last came into view.

Anakin throttled full speed ahead and prayed fervently that this visit to his home world might end better than the one eight years ago.

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Black absorbed heat.

With each step Anakin made across scorching sand, he was reminded of that timeless fact.

The internal cooling system in his suit wasn't working as it should. Its motor strained to keep the twin suns' heat at bay. After lying around unused for over two months, it sputtered and whined as Anakin dialed it up to maximum power.

Sweat trailed down his neck, yet still he pushed forward, doggedly putting one leaden foot in front of the other. Just another hundred yards until he reached the Lars' front door. Assuming the dome he saw wasn't just a mirage…

It wasn't. A scruffy man in a tan tunic emerged and his wavy form moved to the nearest moisture evaporator. He was evidently too distracted to notice the black specter standing at the edge of his land.

Anakin hesitated, unsure whether to call Owen's name from that distance or move in closer and risk giving him a heart attack. The moisture farmer was absorbed in his own world, oblivious to everything else. Anakin decided to walk halfway, or until Owen spotted him, whichever came first.

Owen's hearing was more finely tuned than his eyesight. Anakin had taken five steps when his target's head whipped around.

The poor man nearly fell on his behind.

"Owen," Anakin halted, raising both hands slowly. "I'm not here to harm you, I swear."

Anakin could feel the fear radiating off him as intensely as the heat. Owen had frozen, half-crouched, with one hand still on the evaporator valve. He was too petrified to speak.

Anakin kept his hands aloft. "May I come closer? I'm just here to talk. You and Beru are in no danger."

"Like Padmé and the children weren't?!" Owen cried. If he was going to be cornered, he may as well speak his mind.

"Please, I want to explain everything, if you'll just let me inside."

"As if we have a choice! Come right on in, Beru will put a pot of coffee on for you!"

Owen's contempt stung like sand on Anakin's cheeks. _He's not going to make this easy. And he has every right not to._ He tried to ignore his half brother's venomous glare as he entered the homestead, but it burned through his suit like radiation.

"Beru! We have a visitor!" Owen shakily called out, half furious and half terrified.

Turning the corner, Beru dropped the towel she was drying her hands on and stared at her husband and the figure dwarfing him. She read Owen's face in an instant and mirrored his mood.

"I guess it just isn't a family reunion without _everyone_ kidnapped, is it?" she clenched her fists. "Fine! Take us! At least we'll have the dignity of being abducted from our own home!"

Anakin sighed. "Nobody's being abducted. I really just want to talk to you. May we do that at the table?"

"Sure, let's _talk_," Beru agreed sarcastically.

There was enough friction at the Lars' dining room table to set an entire forest ablaze. Anakin had difficulty meeting their hostile stares; his eyes wandered, though his helmet looked straight ahead.

"I knew coming here would upset you greatly," he began. "I wouldn't have come but for an urgent matter."

No change in either of their expressions. Anakin swallowed and pressed on.

"Are you aware this farm contains large deposits of cortosis ore?"

Owen's already stiff frame tightened. "What's it to you?"

_Everything_, Anakin thought. "Has anyone approached you with an offer to buy the land?"

"Yeah, Jabba's rats. Bunch of times. Not interested."

Beru made a strange face at Anakin. "Do _you_ want to buy it?"

"No. But I'm here on behalf of someone who does."

"Wow," huffed Owen, "Jabba must be pullin' some big strings now!"

_Funny you should mention strings… that's exactly what I'm attached to_. "Actually, Jabba's been acting for someone else all along. Have you heard of Prince Xizor?"

"Nope."

"The Black Sun?"

"I _wish_ I knew of a black sun out here."

"It's an organized crime group with a lot of power."

"And what they want is what they get, right?" Owen snorted. "Especially with Darth Vader to back them up! Sorry, but I've made it perfectly clear I'm not bullied by anyone! Not even my scum bucket half brother!"

The words surprised and hurt Anakin a great deal. _He's saying this without knowing I'm a changed man! Owen Lars is indeed the most stubborn man alive. He might even be half crazy._

He must have sensed Anakin's stunned response. "I don't care if you choke us both to death right here, right now. We're tired of all this, and you'd be doing us a favor if you put us out of our misery! At least then we can stop watching our backs and wondering when we're next!"

This was the life he'd made for so many people throughout the galaxy. This was Darth Vader's true legacy – irrational, incessant fear in every heart from the core to the outer rim. His old self would have been most pleased. His current self found it abhorrent.

Maybe removing his helmet would ease their angst, maybe not. Anakin needed to be selective with whom he revealed it to. Too many witnesses meant too many tongues potentially wagging. Gossip could spread like a virus and eventually reach Imperial Center, especially with a hive like Mos Eisley.

Besides, he wouldn't have to show Owen anyway. He'd readily agree to the deal once he knew it was for Padmé and the twins.

"You're not next. But if Xizor doesn't get your property, Padmé and the twins will be. He's taken them prisoner, along with my father."

"_What?_ Prisoner? Your _father?_" Owen stammered, wanting to burst out laughing. "Beru, he's developed a sense of humor since we saw him last!"

Beru found it less comical than her husband. "They're all being held hostage?"

"Yes! Xizor abducted them yesterday and the ransom is your farmland! If I you don't sell the property… they all die."

Owen slapped his hand on the table, clearly amused. "You really expect us to believe that?"

Anakin's silence spoke for itself.

"Oh, this is rich!" Owen carried on. "Someone actually got the better of you and kidnapped your own prisoners? I'm not buying it. Darth Vader would never make a rookie mistake like that!"

_No, but Anakin Skywalker evidently would_. "Would Darth Vader invent a humiliating story like this? Moreover, _why_ would he?"

"If the payoff was worth it, you might! This Xizor character is probably your best friend. I'm sure Padmé and the twins are still safely chained up in your dungeon somewhere, and you're using this story to bait us into selling the land! It's all about the money!"

It was amazing how wrong one person could be about so many things. "Let me make one thing perfectly clear to you: Xizor is _not_ my friend. He is my most loathsome enemy and has been for several years. If he were to die, it would please me more than any sum of money. I'd give all my savings to make him disappear and never return."

"Well, you've had more than enough time to kill him yourself," challenged Owen.

"Palpatine wouldn't take too kindly to that course of action."

"Ah, of course. Always have to take that snake into consideration."

"If I die, your hope of seeing them again dies too!" Anakin defended. "This isn't just about self-preservation. I want them back just as badly as you do."

His thoughtful tone stunned Owen and Beru momentarily. But soon Owen's skepticism picked up where it left off.

"What's keeping you from getting them back? You're Darth Vader! You're telling us you can't march into Xizor's place and get what you want? Is your lightsaber broken?"

"It's not that I _can't_," Anakin said slowly. "I won't."

That answer made no sense. The Lars stared at him as if he had two heads.

"To answer your last question, yes, my lightsaber is broken. I destroyed it myself."

"I don't follow," Owen shook his head.

"I'm not the man I've been the past five years. I destroyed my weapon to ensure I don't revert back."

"Oh really? When did you make _that_ resolution – before or after abducting them?"

"After, obviously!" Anakin was growing tired of Owen's attitude. "I decided during my…"

Beru cocked her head. "During your what?"

Anakin sighed, realizing he'd have to use his last card after all. Owen's stubbornness wouldn't budge otherwise.

He held his breath and clicked the release buttons on his helmet. It felt heavier than lead as he removed it.

Beru and Owen wore identical masks of sheer astonishment. They were too shocked to even let their jaws go slack. Neither could believe their eyes.

"It was during my recovery from reconstructive surgery that I vowed to change," Anakin stated, feeling their gaze burn his bare cheeks. "Now do you believe me?"

Beru's hand rose to her mouth. "You're healed…"

"Yes, in every dimension."

Anakin looked pointedly at Owen for his official response. For a long, solid minute, the man's face and thoughts were unreadable. Too many things tumbled through his mind to make sense of it. Until he started slowly shaking his head, with his posture more shielded than before.

"No… I'm not fooled by this. It could be a mind trick for all we know," he threw a warning glance at Beru. "And even if it's not, I don't trust it. This doesn't feel right."

"Damn it, Owen!" Anakin slammed a hand on the table, making them jump. "Drop the conspiracy theorist act! Quit overanalyzing and doubting everything I say! What you see is what you get!"

His outburst did little to further his cause, he realized as Beru shrank into her chair.

_Great. I can't win! Talking to them reasonably doesn't work, and neither does impassioned speech. This is ridiculous_.

Anakin dropped his gaze, hoping to lessen the intimidation factor, and took a deep breath. "Look, I don't know what you want. Is there anything I can say or do to prove myself?"

"No," Owen's answer came swiftly. "You can talk until you're blue in the face. You can talk for an entire lifetime, and nothing you say will convince me you've changed!"

"And there's nothing I can do either?"

"Nothing," Owen pursed his lips.

Lowering his head into his gloved hands, Anakin exhaled with a strange, dark laughter. "Owen, how can I make you understand? We're dealing with life or death here! And you're holding out for what, pride? Land? Are those worth more than their lives?"

Each entreaty Anakin made only led Owen to dig his heels in more.

"Their lives are already lost to you!" he spat. "So yes, I'll hold on to my pride, because you've stolen just about everything else!"

Next to him, Beru was starting to shift uncomfortably. "Owen, maybe we should think this –"

"No!" Owen's hand flew into the air. "I've had plenty of time to _think_ the last five years! Don't forget all the misery he caused all of us, Beru. A pretty face and polished speech can't erase that!"

Her eyes darted between Anakin and Owen, torn between what each was saying. Anakin's clear eyes seemed void of artifice, yet Owen's points were well made. It was impossible to choose a side or know who to trust. But given their history and Owen's strength of conviction, she had to pick caution over compassion.

Anakin had misjudged something. Xizor wasn't the prime candidate for luring him back to the Dark Side. Owen Lars just might tie the Prince for that position.

Xizor was wretched for abducting his family, and Owen was deplorable for not cooperating to get them back. The two evils were almost indistinguishable from each other.

And neither could be allowed to persist.

"So that's all you think I've offered you today? Superficial things to dazzle you?" Anakin lowered his tone. "I once thought you a wise man, Owen. Now I see your judgment is as shallow as the groundwater here."

The backhanded compliment took Owen by surprise, but his rigid attitude returned in the blink of an eye. "Are you going to waste your time insulting me or get what you came for? Just kill us now and be done with it!"

Anakin looked up from beneath a heavy brow. "My lightsaber may be disabled, but my hands aren't. I will do what I must."

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	27. Ch 7: Vortex

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**Chapter 27 – Vortex**

Three dawns later on a not-too-distant world, a mole emerged. Its nose wrinkled at seeing the sun for the first time in three months. An opening appeared in its long, tangled beard as it gulped fresh air.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was awaking from hibernation.

Three months. That had been the longest Jedi raid he'd yet endured. Vader must have had a stronger hunch than usual to keep his troops on Naboo so long. Obi-Wan could feel them prowling the land and sense each footprint they left while hunting him. Probably all shadow troopers this time. He'd had the pleasure of discovering their cloak capabilities two years ago. _That_ had added an unwelcome twist to the cat and mouse game.

He'd burrowed deeper into the mountains as a result. His bunker was literally a mole tunnel with a hidden entrance on the steep side of a mountain. His only provisions were his lightsaber, rudimentary camping gear, and instincts.

He returned to find his cabin just as he expected: the place was ransacked from top to bottom. Books and dishes lay strewn about like a bear had run amuck. Furniture lay upturned at odd angles. Even the drapes were ripped from his two small windows.

Same as always. They came, tore through all his possessions, and left with nothing. Because he'd eradicated all traces of his identity from his belongings. His link to the Jedis couldn't be gleaned from anything he owned. Besides his lightsaber – which never left his belt, not even in sleep.

Yet still they came, intent on sniffing him out. It was getting very, very old.

At least they hadn't yet discovered his secret storage compartment beneath the floorboards. The one where he kept his comlink.

The comlink that held some rather interesting messages.

Earliest was one from Bail Organa, informing him that Padmé and the twins had arrived safely on Alderaan. That was dated three months ago.

Then another from Bail a day later. He and Breha had flown Padmé and the twins to Tatooine for emergency asylum with the Lars; Vader had appeared on Alderaan and compromised their safety.

A week until the next message. Each was more frantic than the previous.

Organa said he hadn't heard from Padmé in several days and she wasn't answering her comlink. Nor could he reach the Lars, whose comlink connection was weak on a good day.

No matter – the next ten messages were all from them anyway.

What they contained made Obi-Wan's blood run colder than Hoth in the dead of night.

_He has them…_

And that news was over two months old. Force knew what could've happened to them by now…

Defeatism set in. Somehow, in the back of his mind, he always knew this would happen. Their support system was too fragile to sustain itself indefinitely. It was fraught with cracks and weaknesses, not the least of which was that Obi-Wan and Yoda were separated. It had seemed like a good idea five years ago when the galaxy was crumbling apart, but not so much anymore.

Yoda had all but vanished from existence, refusing to bring even a comlink or any other device to keep in contact with Obi-Wan. The only way to solicit his help was to fly to Dagobah, wade through the muck, and track down the little green Jedi in person.

So that's what Obi-Wan planned to do – after stopping at Tatooine to check on the Lars.

A priority that became even more imperative once he tried reaching their comlink. It was one thing for Bail not to get a signal from Alderaan, but Naboo was one-third that distance from Tatooine. He should be hearing Owen or Beru's anxious voice any time now, not faint static.

This foreboded nothing good.

Jumping to conclusions had never been his way, but Obi-Wan felt dread settle into his soul. Something must have befallen them. Likely the same fate as Padmé, Luke and Leia.

He was too late. Too isolated. Too trapped. Everything was stacked against him all along.

Maybe a sliver of hope remained… if he visited Tatooine and found them well, it would do wonders for his state of mind.

He did a hasty shaving job, threw a few things in a duffel bag, and set off to dig his shuttle out of the brush. He'd easily make it to Tatooine by nightfall if he left now.

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The early stirrings of a sandstorm gusted through Anchorhead as Obi-Wan passed through. Flecks of sand whirled and stuck in his beard as he refueled his rented speeder. He squinted at the horizon, trying to gauge how many hours of daylight remained – before the full storm set in, that is. It already looked like a tan gauze was spread across the low-set suns. He guessed maybe an hour, an hour and a half at the most. He had to get this show on the road.

He remembered the route to the Lars fairly well, though it'd been several years since he last visited. Five years, to be exact. Could that be right? Had he really not seen them since traveling with Padmé right after the twins' birth? It seemed like mere months, not half a decade. Time flew when living in exile, evidently.

He tried calming his nerves by daydreaming of what may have transpired in those five years. Would he drive up to a remodeled homestead twice the size of the original? Or trip over a kid or two on his way through the door? Had five years of farming turned Owen more taciturn? Would they even recognize Obi-Wan, or he them?

Soon he found his answers, but he wished he hadn't.

A column of black smoke stained the sky. The opposite of a beacon. A warning, not a welcome.

Ashes mingled with swirling sand. The smog was thick and filthy, coating Obi-Wan's throat as he steered toward the smudge. At its epicenter was a sight too horrific for words.

No color remained in the charred ruins of the Lars homestead. All was black as charcoal, and it burned like charcoal, smoking without many visible flames. Tears filled Obi-Wan's eyes from the sting of sandy grime and the two bodies he saw on the ground.

He'd come too late. Vader had been here. And done his worst.

Slaughtered two of the very few remaining relatives he had.

And for what? Abducting Padmé and the twins made sense, but killing Owen and Beru? What purpose did that serve? What did Vader stand to gain by destroying them?

No sooner had he wondered that question when again, he got a swift answer.

"You there!" a mechanical voice shouted from behind, making him start.

Obi-Wan turned and found himself face to face with a squad of armed shadow troopers. Between his shock and the howling wind, he hadn't sensed or heard them approach.

"You are under arrest for trespassing on Hutt property!"

_Well, things are certainly going from bad to worse._

Obi-Wan silently counted the troops. Two dozen. Not an ideal number to combat in the middle of a mounting sandstorm. He could probably pull it off, but it made sense to consider the alternative. Surrender meant a controlled prison environment in which he could collect his thoughts, analyze an escape plan, and execute it with a few mind control tricks along the way. Much tidier than a messy standstorm fight.

And given where he'd been the past three months, tidiness was a very appealing option.

He placed both hands above his head and let his captors lead the way, turning his back on a scene that was quickly dissolving into sand.

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Blank, featureless walls were a welcome sight to Obi-Wan's haggard eyes, and he hoped staring at them would wipe clean the images from Tatooine. Yet each time he closed his eyes, there was the burning homestead, scarred and smoldering. Just like Vader's heart.

Smoke still burned Obi-Wan's nostrils and sand still stung his eyelids. Sleeping on the shuttle all the way to Imperial Center last night hadn't improved his symptoms much. And the conversational efforts of his fellow jailmate – a boy of about fifteen, he guessed – didn't help either.

"Nice beard," the boy's first sarcastic words had been.

"Don't be jealous just because you can't grow one yet," Obi-Wan returned.

"I ain't the jealous type."

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.

"What ya in here for?"

"Trespassing, if you must know."

"You know, you're the second guy to get canned for that in the past few months!" Han declared. "Seems to be the trend."

"I'm nothing if not fashionable."

"Oh, I can see that. That robe is straight off Mandalore's fashion runway!"

Now _that_ was an insult. "This is the robe of a Jedi master! Do you have the slightest idea what that is?"

"Jedi?" Han shrugged. "Heard of 'em years ago, but never knew what the big deal was."

"That doesn't surprise me," Obi-Wan criticized subtly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, judging by _your_ fashion, I'd guess you're getting twice the hospitality here than wherever you were before. A pirate ship, perhaps?"

Han disliked others knowing his story before he told it. "Hey, not fair! You probably just read my mind to figure that out!"

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows. "Ah, so you _do_ know a thing or two about the Jedi!"

"Yeah, whatever. I know I don't like 'em."

"Why is that?"

"Too full of 'emselves. An' too much hocus-pocus," Han crossed his arms. "They got those weird laser swords too. Just too _weird!_"

_Thanks for reminding me that mine was confiscated. _Obi-Wan brushed his hand against the side of his belt, feeling half naked without his lightsaber holstered there.

"Sound reasons for disliking the entire lot," he returned with his own sarcasm. "And here I thought you'd say the Jedi were guilty of dragging out the Clone Wars, or betraying the Emperor, or something like that!"

"Oh, well, those things too," coughed Han.

"Of course," Obi-Wan crossed his arms and shook his head with a wan smile.

Ten seconds or so passed, and then Han spoke again with a different tone.

"So, you can brainwash those guards to let us go, right?" the boy scooted forward in his cell, eyes hopeful.

"Oh, I'm not so bad now that you've thought about it, eh?" Obi-Wan said imperiously.

"C'mon, is that your plan or not?"

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to tell the young rascal it was none of his business, but the sound of heavy footsteps ended their conversation for him. A pair of stormtroopers came to stand before him with datapads in hand.

"I am Commander TK212," the one on the right announced. "It appears you have not been fully in-processed yet. State your full name."

"Obi-Wan Kenobi." There was no point in hiding his identity. A holonet search performed by a monkey would reveal that's who he was.

TK212's fingers stopped moving across the datapad, then slowly started again.

"The former Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi?" the commander clarified unnecessarily.

"Do you really have to ask?"

No comment. TK212 continued typing, then turned to exchange a nod with his colleague.

"Contact Lord Vader at once and alert him," he instructed. "Send it top priority."

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The problem with Xizor's palace wasn't that it was uncomfortable. It was _too_ comfortable.

Padmé's suite on the top level – 102 floors above ground – was beyond lavish. From the rich brocade curtains to the plush carpet underfoot, every angle was packed with the rarest, costliest furnishings found in the galaxy. There were marble figurines next to trinkets carved of pure jade. Gems and diamonds found only on a single mountaintop in the most remote systems glittered on her nightstand.

Xizor had repeatedly told her to help herself to whatever caught her eye. But the only thing that caught her eye was the door.

Through which walked the Prince at least three or four times a day, unfortunately. And always with the most lascivious of smiles, as if she'd find that charming, not revolting.

At least the view was to die for.

She gazed down at the dingy towers of Imperial City and wondered if it would come to that. Dying for this. For her faith in Anakin and stalwart rejection of Xizor.

This was the sixth day of their captivity. Xizor had quartered them into separate rooms, no doubt to wear them down to become more pliable to his whim. With Padmé, his intentions were obvious. But what designs he had on Ainar and the twins, she couldn't guess. She didn't want to.

Such high anxiety wasn't doing her mind or body any favors. Her head had persistently ache the past few days, and this morning she'd hugged the toilet in anticipation of vomiting. Thankfully it'd been a false alarm, but it shook her nonetheless. Her system was breaking down under these conditions, not surprisingly. She didn't know how much more she could stand.

When Xizor made his first appearance of the day, she knew her limits would be tested yet again.

"Good morning, my fairest lady. I hope you slept well," he hissed seductively.

The sight of his green skin made Padmé's stomach turn sour all over again. "Not particularly."

"Oh? Have the thousand-thread-count sheets lost their smooth touch? That does tend to happen every so often. I can send for silk ones, if you prefer that against your skin."

_I'd prefer you stop _talking_ about my skin_. "It's not the sheets, Xizor."

"Come now, Amidala," the Prince spread his hands graciously. "I hope you don't mind me calling you that. I just love the sound of your royal name."

Padmé hugged her arms tightly across her ribs.

"I designed this suite to be fit for a queen such as yourself. Now, I know it was many years ago that you reigned, but you still carry yourself with such regal bearing," Xizor laid it on thick. "Do you miss it?"

Padmé frowned. "What? Being queen?"

"Yes," Xizor snaked his way closer, step by step. "The grand wardrobe, the public's adoration, the unlimited power. Don't tell me you don't yearn for it still."

If she could deny it, she would. Yet Xizor had tapped into a part of her subconscious she couldn't even deny to herself. There were times when she daydreamed about those days. But those visions often got buried under more pressing issues, like trying to both forget and dodge Vader at every turn. Now that those concerns were gone…

No, she knew what Xizor was trying to do. She wasn't so weak-minded as to let him get away with it.

"You could have it again, you know," he continued, having sensed her defenses flicker momentarily. "I've told you before and I'll tell you again – you deserve a man of equal sophistication to your own. Royalty deserves royalty. And you know I'm next in line to rule Falleen as king."

His advances kept getting more and more disgusting. "I'd rather scrub the streets of Theed as a beggar maid than marry the likes of you!"

Undeterred, Xizor swaggered closer and stroked her cheek. "I like a woman of strong conviction. It makes things interesting… and more gratifying when I finally succeed in persuading you."

Suddenly a warning bell blared in Padmé's head. Xizor was Falleen… which meant…

She switched from breathing through her nose to her mouth, but she was one second too late.

Xizor's race was renowned for their potent pheromones. It was said no one who inhaled their imperceptible scent could resist. And she must have inhaled some. Her head swam, her joints became elastic, and her peripheral vision shrank until all she could see was Xizor's reptilian face.

Every fiber in her struggled against the wave that was consuming her senses, but the more she resisted, the deeper she sank. Just like quicksand.

"Don't fight it," Xizor's warm breath caressed her ear. "It's what you want. Everything you ever desired but Vader couldn't give you will be yours."

His clawed hands trailed up her backside like spiders. Seeking a zipper or clasp to undo, she couldn't tell. The synapses in her brain were losing connectivity with each passing second.

Xizor's finely scaled neck grazed the back of hers and he inhaled the aroma of her hair. "You're not like the others. You're not my inferior, but my equal. We can rule Black Sun together someday," he shivered in lustful anticipation of it all. "Very soon, we shall –"

So abruptly that it almost knocked Padmé back on her heels, Xizor retracted his pheromones like a whip. The spell was broken.

Padmé gasped, trying to get her bearings. Her surroundings looked the same, but Xizor's expression did not.

"What is that I smell?" His nose flared. Then he staggered back, shocked and outraged.

Padmé blinked, still recovering from feeling drugged. What was he so offended by?

"Unbelievable!" Xizor spat, quaking with indignation. "Just my luck! Vader must have planned this, knowing I'd never lay with a woman who was carrying his spawn!"

Static flooded Padmé's head, which felt ten feet underground.

Xizor's voice grew muffled and incoherent as she tried to process it.

She didn't hear his comlnk buzz. Nor did she realize it was her husband contacting Xizor at that very moment. She was vaguely aware of the Prince's mouth moving. When he turned to leave her burning a hole into the carpet, she didn't notice or care.

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Wind tugged viciously on Xizor and Vader's capes as they stood at the foot of the Prince's palace.

Vader assumed the bitterness on Xizor's face was from the wind gusting in it. He was incorrect.

"How did negotiations go on Tatooine?" Xizor bared his teeth.

"As well as could be expected. But I didn't come here to give you a transcript, Xizor. All you need to know is that the land is yours."

"Is that so?" Xizor was considerably less impressed than Anakin expected. "So if I contacted Jabba this very minute, he could dispatch his men to find the farm empty?"

"Emptier than a tomb," Anakin confirmed.

His choice of words was not lost on Xizor, who raised an eyebrow. "My, my! Well done. A thorough job befitting Palpatine's right hand. I stand corrected, Vader – you haven't lost your touch."

"Thank you. Not that I ever needed your seal of approval."

"Mine, no. But Palpatine's, yes."

"I've given him no reason to doubt my loyalty."

"You've been absent far too often to be sure of that," Xizor smiled cunningly.

Anakin jabbed a finger toward his adversary. "Enough with your mind games, Xizor! Your only concern right now is relinquishing my family!"

The Prince's eyes grew even colder. "Yes, about that. It seems you've changed the game. So I'm changing my side of it as well."

"What?!" Anakin was at a complete loss. "I performed my mission!"

"Only too well," sneered Xizor. "And now you've stolen something else from me! First my family, and now your wife. Well played, Vader – impregnating her to keep me from touching her! Just for that, you'll wait a while longer to see them again! I have plenty of chores for you to perform in the meantime!"

Those few sentences contained far too many incongruities for Anakin to process all at once.

One by one, they trickled into his conscious mind like water dripping from a leaky faucet.

Problem one: Xizor was refusing to honor his end of the deal. He'd be stringing Anakin along for Force knew how long, making him do his dirty work indefinitely. It was just what Anakin had feared and suspected.

What he hadn't suspected was...

Could Xizor be lying? Just to rile Anakin and motivate him all the more to do whatever Xizor asked?

The longer he stared at the green Prince, the less likely that seemed. He exuded nothing but raw indignation.

But how could Xizor know that Padmé was with child before Anakin did?

Padmé herself must know and have told him. How many days had it been since she and Anakin… reunited? He tried to remember. Ten. Ten days had passed. Was it even possible to conceive that quickly? And even if it was, he doubted she could know already.

That left one remaining theory. Xizor's nose. His Falleen sense of smell must have detected her shift in hormones, however subtle.

Talk about adding insult to injury, that Xizor should know before either of them did.

But insults were a dime a dozen. They were inconsequential now. Anakin would suffer hearing a million of Xizor's insults if it meant setting his family free – a family more priceless and worth dying for than just a few days ago.

Xizor's impetuous mood invaded Anakin's thoughts. "You seem surprised, Vader… as if you yourself didn't know?" the Prince laughed. "Oh, this is too good! You _didn't_ know! Well, either your wife was keeping it a secret from you, or I just shocked both of you!"

Anakin tried to see straight. This was all pushing him to the brink of insanity.

"Tell me what you want and I'll do it," he vowed.

"Of course you will," Xizor grinned. "But first things first. I will personally inspect your work on Tatooine. If I find it to my liking, I'll give you additional chores then."

The wind gusted Xizor's cloak for dramatic effect.

"Have fun awaiting my return!" the Prince chuckled darkly, turning back toward his palace. "And remember, reclaim your family at your own risk! If they leave my palace, I'll tell Palpatine all your secrets faster than you can say 'Luke and Leia are getting a new sibling!'"

Xizor's wicked cackle swirled around Anakin's helmet, jeering and harassing him long after the Prince disappeared inside his citadel.

Enslavement was clearly Anakin's destiny. First Watto, then Palpatine, and now Xizor. Each time, out of the frying pan and into the fire. Each time, separated from his family whose numbers kept growing. First it was just his mother. Then Padmé and the twins. Now Ainar was added, along with one who wasn't even named yet…

But there wasn't enough time for despair to set in before his comlink buzzed.

"Lord Vader? TK322 reporting from the detention center," a stormtrooper's grating voice stated. "Sir, we have an Obi-Wan Kenobi in custody, and per Imperial protocol, we're contacting you for further instruction."

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_So things just got a bit more complicated And Obi-Wan seems to always be destined to discover the Lars farm burned to the ground… that sucks._

_The Falleen pheromone thing is legit from Wookieepedia. Freaky but true._


	28. Ch 28: Sore Eyes

_So the last chapter was obviously 27, not 7. FF's editing function doesn't work presently and I can't change it. Oops._

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**Chapter 28 – Sore Eyes**

If the walls of the Imperial City detention center could talk, what strange things they'd say.

In the span of just a few months, they'd seen terror turn into family reunions. They'd seen Darth Vader's wrath subdued.

And they were about to witness an event that was a combination of the two. Sort of.

Obi-Wan sat slouched in his cell, trying to remember if Anakin had ever actually said he'd thought of him like a father. Had he imagined it? Had his memories mutated?

Unbeknownst to him, Anakin was wondering the same thing as he approached the building. _Had_ he ever told Obi-Wan how he felt?

Both of them mentally shrugged. It didn't really matter. That sentiment, once verbalized or not, was long obsolete anyway. This reunion of theirs was ill-fated regardless of what was said five years ago. Moreover, It was ill-fated _because_ of what was said five years ago.

Obi-Wan braced for impact. So did Anakin.

But neither knew the other feared exactly what he did.

Anakin knew the look he'd find on his old master's face. Proud, unblinking and unyielding, even in capture. It masked his anxiety quite well. He'd always been good at sublimating his fear.

But that didn't mean it wasn't still there, just under the surface.

Anakin's turmoil hid even better under his suit. But, having ordered the guards to deactivate the security cameras, he intended to level the playing field soon.

In the meantime, Obi-Wan stared at what he thought was Darth Vader, trying to guess the first words that would come from that respirator…

…_You old fool! I always knew I'd get my vengeance on you._

…_Your skills have weakened in exile. You're no match for me now._

…_How does it feel to know you've failed everyone you ever cared about?_

_...You shall meet the same end as all the others – all the ones you couldn't protect!_

They were all plausible, yet Obi-Wan realized they were all extensions of his own insecurity. He feared his powers _had_ weakened over the years. Failure sank into his bones, immobilizing his limbs and suffocating his spirit. Padmé and the twins… the Lars… the Jedi order… the entire universe… he really had failed them all. And Vader would hardly be Vader if he didn't gloat over it.

What he heard instead didn't register. Anakin had to repeat himself three times.

"Are you well?"

Obi-Wan was sure he was dreaming. Or hallucinating.

"I've been better," he said slowly, like a mental patient.

"I know. But excluding present circumstances, you've been well? On Naboo the past five years?"

This was entirely too bizarre. _But I may as well answer the question…_ "No, I haven't. That's the funny thing about exile. One is never considered 'well' while living in constant fear."

_There's the start of the bite I was expecting… and deserve_, Anakin acknowledged. "For what it's worth, you watched over Padmé and the twins well."

"Oh yes. Your capturing them proves that," Obi-Wan grunted.

"You couldn't be in two places at once. It was wild chance that it happened the way it did."

_What the…? Darth Vader is both complimenting and consoling me?! I really am experiencing delusions…_

Anakin saw Obi-Wan's face contort in utter confusion. "I'm not what you expected, am I?"

"No… surely not," Obi-Wan exhaled.

"Then we may as well get the shock over with all at once," offered Anakin, releasing the seal on his helmet.

One pair of blue eyes stared directly into another. The line between the two was sharper than the edge of a lightsaber.

"This isn't real…" Obi-Wan's words sounded slurred in his ears.

"I can assure you it is."

"But… you… how could you have… healed…"

"Without the help of a man named Uli Divini, I never would have," Anakin replied. "He restored my entire body."

Obi-Wan couldn't make himself blink. The face he never thought he'd see again was looking at him with benevolence he never thought possible again. He sniffed the air. Had the guards slipped a hallucinogenic agent into the ventilation system?

"And you wanted to show off before killing me?" Obi-Wan suspected. "The best revenge is living well, unless you're Darth Vader, right?"

Anakin kept his gaze level as he mulled over his response.

"I won't lie – I wanted to kill you. I've wanted it for five solid years. Every day, I visualized how it would happen. And up until last month, I fully intended to follow through with it when I found you again," his honesty seared Obi-Wan to the core.

"What made you change your mind?"

"In short, a man named Ainar Skywalker," Anakin said with fondness. "My father."

Obi-Wan was convinced he'd woken in an alternate universe. "Your…what?" he shook his head. "Anakin, you don't have a father!"

"That's what I thought too. That's what my mother told me, and she wasn't lying… at least, not from her point of view," Anakin's forehead crinkled, realizing how difficult it would be to explain. "You'll just have to take my word for it for now. I _do_ have a father – and he's primarily responsible for my return to the light side of the Force."

Obi-Wan's head like it would float right off his body. "Well, I'm still waiting for you to stop shocking me. Any more earth-shattering announcements before my heart stops altogether?"

Anakin felt his cheeks flush despite himself_. As a matter of fact, there is one more thing_…

"Padmé's pregnant again."

Straight and to the point, his bluntness punched Obi-Wan right in the stomach. That was all the Jedi master could handle. Dropping his head into his hands, he focused on breathing in and out, seeing specks dance around the floor. This was far, far too much to take in, especially when it clashed so profoundly with what he'd expected.

"There's more," Anakin confessed. "She, Ainar, and the twins have all been captured by Prince Xizor. He's using them to ransom favors from me. I was on my way to seek you on Naboo when everything went terribly wrong –"

"Hold it!" Obi-Wan raised a palm forcefully. "You've got to slow down and answer some questions for me!"

"Fair enough."

"Let's start at the beginning, shall we? You claim to be restored in both body and soul, something which has never been done in the history of the Force! Do you have any proof of your conversion?"

"Just this," Anakin presented the same handful of crumpled lightsaber pieces as she'd shown Padmé. "My Sith lightsaber. Or what's left of it."

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow but kept his response in check. "You wouldn't necessarily need that anyway, since you could use Force lightning now."

"I _could_, yes. I could have used it to dispatch the Lars. But I didn't."

"Oh? You just set fire to their homestead the old-fashioned way, then?"

"No… I mean, yes. I destroyed their farm, but only because they refused to cooperate –"

"See! Darth Vader's still alive and well!" crowed Obi-Wan.

Sighing, Anakin felt his temper growing short. "Don't jump to conclusions! I didn't kill them! I just made it look that way to appease Xizor. He sent me to get them to hand over their land to Jabba. Even when I told them it was to save Padmé and the twins' lives, they wouldn't budge!"

"I don't believe you."

"You will when you see they're both alive and well at my palace!"

"Alive, they may be, but _well?_ I seriously doubt that."

"Well enough! I didn't harm a hair on their heads. They have food, water, and shelter. That's more than they'd have gotten under Jabba's care."

"Fine," Obi-Wan shook his head. "Assuming you have a father and have done the impossible by returning from the Dark Side, we'll move on to other matters. The new baby… is Padmé happy about it?"

It was his subtle way of asking if it had been consensual. Padmé would have never consented if she wasn't fully convinced Anakin had changed.

Anakin's eyes fell. "I wish I knew."

Obi-Wan frowned. "How can you not?"

"Because Xizor found out before either of us," a sour taste lined Anakin's mouth. "He smelled the change on her."

"Oh. That's…"

"Awkward? Unfortunate? Another complication among many?"

"All those things, yes," Obi-Wan conceded. "But congratulations nonetheless. That is, if congratulations are appropriate here?"

Anakin realized what he was fishing for. "They are. I didn't force anything on her, if that's what you're asking."

"Yes, thank you for the clarification."

"But that's not the end of your questions."

"Hardly," Obi-Wan leaned back, arms crossed. "How in the _world_ did Xizor manage to kidnap your family?"

Anakin sighed. "You're not the first person to wonder that, including myself. It must have been a combination of things. I was preoccupied with finding you, afraid you'd never agree to help me. And my senses have been a little shaky since leaving my Sith powers behind – kind of like learning to ride a bike again."

Nodding slowly, Obi-Wan ingested this. "So you wanted my help _before_ Xizor abducted them. Why did you originally want to seek me out?"

"It was Padmé's idea. She said I'd need someone with a functioning lightsaber on my side when I overthrow Palpatine."

Obi-Wan's eyes grew wide as moons. Everything else had been astonishing enough… but this?!

"You're serious!" he cried, seeing the cold determination on Anakin's face.

"Never have I been more so."

Obi-Wan coughed out an incredulous laugh. "Could you be any more full of surprises, Anakin? Force, I can't even believe I'm _calling_ you that again! You waltz in here looking like you did five years ago, ask me if I've been _well_, and proceed to stun me with every twist of fate you possibly could! A father, a _very_ amicable reunion with Padmé, and a vow to destroy the man who controlled you for half a decade! Honestly, how am I supposed to process all this?"

"With a few deep breaths – and a resolution to start over."

The request was made. The proposal had been laid at Obi-Wan's feet, a humble offering of good will and reconciliation. It was his to accept or reject. But as master and padawan locked eyes, both knew there was only one real option. There were five innocent lives at stake, and that was five too many for Obi-Wan to spurn in favor of pride.

He bore into Anakin's blue eyes, searching for the tiniest speck of yellow.

"The hatchet's buried?"

"It is for me."

Not a line of this conversation had gone according to Obi-Wan's predictions.

And reflecting back on it all, not a line rang insincere.

"Then it will be for me as well," he stood slowly.

Anakin dropped the force field without a word. Their embrace was far clumsier than it had been with Padmé, but it was no less healing. He was surprised to see a tear dangling on Obi-Wan's eyelid when he pulled away.

"I can't tell you how many times I prayed for this day," Obi-Wan's voice tightened. "I thought it could never happen. Thank you for proving me wrong."

"Thank you for letting me. I… I'm sorry, master," Anakin struggled to maintain eye contact.

Obi-Wan was quiet for a minute. "I know how hard it must be to call me that after Palpatine."

"He never deserved the title!"

"No, but be mindful of your anger toward him. Keep your hatred strongly in check," cautioned Obi-Wan. "We have quite the challenge ahead, and we mustn't lose focus for one second."

Anakin nodded grimly. "So you'll join me? Even with the odds stacked as they are?"

"Absolutely. Anakin, I've always been willing to help you. If you had come to me five years ago… well, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now. I could have talked to the council, tried to reason with them and get you a pardon."

The taut shame on Anakin's face told Obi-Wan it was all understood.

Obi-Wan gripped Anakin by his shoulder armor. "But that's all in the past. We'll work together now to make it right."

"Thank you. I need all the help I can get," Anakin ran black-gloved fingers through his hair. "Things are quite a mess, aren't they?"

"With you on the right side of the Force, they're not half as hopeless as they seem."

"I just wish my clarity of mind would return."

"It will – give it a little time. It's worth the wait. And in the meantime, I'll stay sharp for both of us," Obi-Wan smiled reassuringly. "Now, did you have anyone else in mind to recruit?"

"Bail Organa, possibly Mon Mothma. Padmé's friends are the only allies I've got left."

"You're forgetting Yoda."

"Is he still alive?"

Obi-Wan laughed. "Very much so! He's hiding out in the Dagobah system, making friends with all the frogs in the swamp."

"Dagobah… that's far. Do we have time to seek him out and bring him back?"

"Not all of us would have to go. We could send Bail or Mon by themselves."

"And lose their expertise for two days? I don't think so," Anakin started pacing. "We need a pilot whose intellect won't be needed…"

In the contemplative silence that followed, a distant clang of a door reached Anakin's ears. It meant nothing to Obi-Wan, but to his old apprentice, it was a beautiful sound.

"Han!" he cried triumphantly.

"Who?"

"A boy… a former pirate. He's not Imperial Academy material, but his piloting skills are top notch," Anakin smirked, recalling the circumstances that landed the boy in jail.

"Oh, him," Obi-Wan said unenthusiastically, remembering the boy's name. "He's the best you can think of?"

"Right now, yes. He has no allegiances to the Empire or the Jedi. He's a freelancer, which is exactly what we need. He can fly under the radar, no pun intended," Anakin headed down the corridor. "He must be out doing yard labor. I'll be right back."

Obi-Wan had a front row seat to the rather entertaining proceedings. An anxious-looking Han was being prodded down the hall, eyes darting everywhere as he tried to guess what was coming. To Obi-Wan, it was harmless justice for the boy's earlier attitude.

Han went from nervous to confused when they stopped in front of Obi-Wan's cell.

"I take it you two have met," Anakin nodded toward his master.

"Yeah," admitted Han.

"He's an old friend of mine, Han."

Han raised both eyebrows. "You have friends?"

"Amazingly, yes. He and I have a favor to ask of you. We'd pay you, of course."

This certainly sounded interesting. A paid favor for Darth Vader? Negotiated without death threats?

"I'm all ears."

"Are you familiar with the Dagobah system?"

"Sure."

"Would you be comfortable going there alone and then returning with a passenger?"

"It depends," Han said cautiously. "Who's the passenger?"

"Another old friend."

"Is this _friend_ as full of himself as this one?" Han pointed at Obi-Wan.

Anakin wanted to laugh but realized that'd ruin his façade. "Not nearly as much!"

Han looked doubtful. "I dunno… I don't like those Jedi types. How much you plannin' on payin' me?"

"Two thousand credits."

"Two thousand?!" Han exclaimed. "That's what I'd get for a day of drivin' old ladies 'round on Corellia!"

"Would you rather I just clear your account instead?"

"Huh?"

"You owe me millions of credits for sparing your life, Solo! The way I see it, there are two ways you can pay me back: your life, or this mission. Take your pick."

Han glanced at Obi-Wan, then back at Anakin. "Well, since ya put it that way…"

"I thought you might see things reasonably," Anakin smirked under his helmet. "Now, urgency is critical. You will leave in two hours, once Obi-Wan has time to record a holo message for you to take."

Han nodded. "Lucky for you, my schedule's wide open!"

"After urgency, secrecy is also critical. Your passenger will be on the small side – small enough to fit in a cargo hold, if you catch my meaning."

"Got it, stash the runt at the first sign of an Imperial crew."

"Crudely put, yes. Not that I expect you to encounter any trouble, since you'll be taking an Imperial shuttle."

"Same kind I hijacked a coupla months ago?"

"The same."

"Perfect, I know _all_ the secret compartments on those things!"

"Good for you," Anakin suppressed another laugh. "You will bring the passenger directly to my palace when you return. Don't make any detours or stops, understand?"

"Sure, no problem," Han shrugged. "This 'passenger' wouldn't be one of your kids, would it?"

That knocked Anakin off-balance. The candidness was as shocking as the knowledge itself. But then he remembered Han had shared prison space with the twins for one night.

"No, it's not. Why would I go to so much trouble to send someone else to get them?" Anakin crossed his arms_. If only it were that easy… having Han pick them up for me_. "Think before you ask stupid questions."

"Just curious, since I haven't seen 'em since two months ago. How are they doin'?"

Anakin felt Dark Side temptations stirring within. Temptations to wring Han's irksome larynx. "Only ask questions related to the mission, boy!"

"Okay, okay. So what's this mystery person look like?"

"Green with pointy ears," Obi-Wan chimed in.

"And with a very unique way of speaking," added Anakin. "Just scan the planet for sentient life. He should be the only being that registers."

"All right. So I scan the swamps, find the frog, play the message, an' he'll just get in the ship like we're best buddies?" Han sounded dubious.

"If he hears a persuasive enough message," offered Obi-Wan.

"Which we need to record now. So it's back in your cell for now," Anakin led the boy across the hall. "I'll come back for you in an hour or two. Be ready."

"Oh, I'm as ready as I'll ever be!" Han sang, flopping down onto the bench. "Can't wait to do business with ya!"

"Neither can I," Obi-Wan mumbled under his breath as he and Anakin headed for the exit. "Again I'll ask you, is he the best we can find?"

Anakin indulged in a quiet laugh. "Relax, old man. He'll get the job done. He may be a young scoundrel, but for the right incentive, he'll follow through."

"I hope you're right. We can't afford to place the weight of this mission in the wrong hands."

"Forget about Han for a while – you have a very persuasive message to record."

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"_We need a pilot whose mental intellect won't be needed." Poor Han…_

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	29. Ch 29: War Room

_Wow, thanks for all the very gracious reviews! Glad you're all enjoying this. A few more chapters to come... and then I've got a fun finale planned!_

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**Chapter 29: War Room**

Obi-Wan laughed to himself. He'd seen a lot the past few days. He'd seen the Lars homestead charred to a crisp, Anakin's body and soul restored to health, and the Lars very much alive in a suite on the fiftieth floor of his palace. Yet somehow it all paled next to a Rodian billiards table in the middle of the former Darth Vader's rec room.

"You actually _entertained_ here?" Obi-Wan grazed the polished frame with his fingertips, trying to imagine Darth Vader sharpening his cue stick.

"Occasionally, if the company was right," Anakin answered while removing his upper armor piece by piece. "It's more a status symbol than anything else."

"Status symbol indeed, don't these tables cost around a hundred thousand credits?"

"Something like that. But I didn't bring you here to show off. This room just has the clearest projector system."

"I'm eager to see the show."

"Don't be. It's not pretty."

Obi-Wan found an overstuffed leather armchair, waiting while Anakin flipped a series of buttons and switches. The lights dimmed slightly and a red-tinged image came into focus on the screen in front of them. At first, it looked like a diagram of a thermal detonator, rotating slowly to reveal intricate patterns on its surface. But as Obi-Wan looked closer, he realized the scale was different. Vastly different.

"This is what Palpatine and I have been working on the past five years," Anakin announced without pride. "We call it the Death Star."

Leaning forward in the chair, Obi-Wan squinted. "Am I seeing that right? The scale is…"

"One foot per kilometer."

"That's massive!"

"Yes. And its construction has already begun."

"How haven't I heard of this? Even in exile, I had Holonet connections and news sources!"

"Palpatine wants to reveal it once it's half completed. He doesn't want to risk sabotage," said Anakin ruefully.

Obi-Wan stared through the Death Star outline. "And how do you suggest we go about doing just that?"

Anakin drew a breath, unsure how to answer.

Instead of using the breath to speak, he held it when his comlink started buzzing.

The look on his and Obi-Wan's face made it clear they both knew who was calling.

"Hide behind the table!" Anakin directed Obi-Wan, racing to put his armor and helmet back in place.

Obi-Wan dove from sight just as Anakin clicked on his mask and the comlink. The older Jedi could hear Palpatine's sinister voice hiss a greeting.

"Vader, you're still alive!"

"Yes… master," Anakin forced the word out.

"After hearing nothing from you in so long, I was beginning to wonder if you'd met an untimely end!"

"Not at all. But the same can't be said of quite a few Jedi."

"Exactly what I hoped to hear," Palpatine grinned crookedly. "I want the report."

"Report?" Anakin hesitated.

"Yes! An itemized list of each and every Jedi scum you eliminated over the past two months! And I expect it to be rather lengthy, given all the time you've had!"

Anakin's throat ran dry. "Yes… of course. The report. You'll have it in a day or two."

"I'll have it first thing tomorrow morning!" screeched Palpatine, whose fuse seemed even shorter than usual. "I've waited long enough, Vader! I've been more than patient letting you gallivant around the galaxy at whim!"

"Patient indeed, master, and I appreciate –"

"You will thank me by being in my war room at exactly 0700 hours tomorrow, not one minute later! Xizor will be back from an off-world errand and join us," Palpatine licked his lips. "This meeting is _not_ optional, Vader. If you're tardy, you forfeit your entire share in the Death Star to Xizor. If you miss it, I will seize your palace and retreat! Have I made myself clear?"

"Absolutely," Anakin swallowed.

"Good. I will not tolerate any further horseplay. The time has come to present a strong, united face to the galaxy when we reveal the Death Star!"

"An announcement already? We've only just begun construction!"

Palpatine cackled with glee. "I know. I rather like surprises, don't you?"

_These days, it depends.._. "The galaxy will certainly be surprised."

"How it shall! You, Xizor and I will broadcast the news tomorrow evening. We'll finalize the details at our meeting. I look forward to having you with us again, Vader."

Anakin swallowed a bit of bile. "As do I, master."

With a slippery smile and cursory nod, Sidious cut the transmission, leaving Anakin more than a little shaken and speechless.

Obi-Wan crawled out from under the table, brow furrowed. "_That_ was unsettling!"

"You're telling me," Anakin said through his teeth. "I didn't see it coming."

"I certainly didn't either! What are you going to do?"

"I have no choice… I have to be at that meeting. It's a dealbreaker."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Just be here when I get back," sighed Anakin, lifting his helmet as if it weighed a hundred pounds.

"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere until Padmé and the twins are back safe and sound."

"Have I told you lately how infinitely grateful I am that you're helping me?"

Obi-Wan smiled thinly. "You don't have to. It goes without saying."

Sinking into an armchair, Anakin stared blankly at the rotating Death Star. Its spherical shape, its curved contours kept spinning into each other… it seemed a metaphor of the endless trouble and suffering he'd brought upon himself and those he loved. He'd set it all spinning in motion five years ago. And it felt like all the power in the universe might not be enough to stop it.

"So Palpatine has you tomorrow first thing," Obi-Wan sat down beside his friend.

Anakin nodded despondently.

"That means we have over twelve hours to cover everything you know about this Death Star," the elder Jedi stated. "And anything you throw in on Xizor would be a bonus."

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"Ugh – two thousand credits _definitely_ ain't worth this!" Han tugged his boot free of an extra sticky puddle of mud, almost falling off balance. He wiped condensation off his scanner screen for the hundredth time since landing on Dagobah.

He'd walked a good two miles in the direction his equipment indicated. Still no sign of the purportedly short "friend" of Anakin and Obi-Wan's.

Just when he started to think this was just a hoax to strand him on his own prison planet, he spotted a dim light between the vines. Not a minute too soon, as dusk was rapidly falling over the murky swamps.

When at last he reached the dwelling, he had to laugh. Its roof came up only to his shoulders.

"Those guys weren't joking," he chuckled to himself, stooping to rap on the door.

There was some scuffling. Quite a bit of scuffling, actually. As if whoever was inside was rapidly stashing some things away and rearranging others.

"Hello?" Han called uncertainly. "Hey, sorry to just drop by, but I've got a message from Obi-Wan Kenobi."

The scuffling stopped. A long, tenuous minute passed before a high-pitched voice responded.

"What say, did you?"

"Huh?" Han leaned forward, thinking something was wrong with his hearing.

"Sent you, who did?"

Han shook his head, perplexed by the syntax. "Um, I think I know what you're askin'… Obi-Wan Kenobi sent me. Well, that ain't completely true," he amended. "Darth Vader sent me, technically. But he an' Obi-Wan both wanted me to come get ya. Who are ya, by the way?"

A high-energy buzzing noise suddenly reached his ears. Then a pair of long, pointed green ears popped up in the window, a brilliant green blade held between them.

"Coerced Obi-Wan into revealing my location, Vader must have!" squealed the creature, the likes of which Han had never seen before. "Prepared to fight, I hope you are! Not taking me without a fight are you! Wield your lightsaber!"

Han was beyond confused. "Whoa, calm down! I didn't come to fight! An' I don't even have a blaster, much less a lightsaber!"

Yoda's jaw tightened as he scrutinized the boy. "Hmm. Not much of an adversary did Vader send me. You are very weak in the Force."

"Yeah, I am!" Han agreed heartily.

Closing his eyes, Yoda focused intently on Han's mind. His grip on the lightsaber finally relaxed.

"Enter may you," he shuffled to the door. "But one false move and finished will you be."

Han ducked inside and quickly found that crawling on his hands and knees was easiest. He marveled at the quaint, miniature furnishings. A tiny tableware set was laid out for dinner.

"Hungry, are you?" Yoda headed for the stove, keeping a keen eye on Han.

"Uh, sure. I mean, yes please, thanks."

Silently ladling stew into a bowl, Yoda carried it to his guest and watched, without blinking, as Han ate.

"This is pretty good," Han complimented awkwardly. "So, what's your name?"

Yoda's expression changed. "My name, they did not tell you?"

"Nope. Didn't tell me nothin' except that you're short," he slurped a spoonful. "Sorry – didn't mean that the wrong way."

Minute by minute, this boy was certainly turning out to be nothing like Yoda expected. Of all the people Vader could have chosen to send…

"No offense taken," Yoda replied. "Yoda my name is."

"Yoda," Han nodded. An odd name befitting an odd-looking individual. "Pleased to meet ya."

"And yours?"

"Han Solo. 'Riginally from Corellia, but I'm kinda from all over now."

"Where and when in Vader's service did you find yourself?"

Han choked on his soup. "Well, see, I sorta stole a shuttle with his stuff in it… then I went to prison an' ran into him there. Met his wife an' kids there too! He almost killed me, then he almost killed _them_, then they all disappeared for a while. Then this Obi-Wan guy showed up an' Vader said they were friends. They both wanted to send me here to bring ya back to Imperial Center."

Yoda nearly dropped the pot of soup he was carrying to the table. "Vader's wife and children, you say you met?"

"Yeah. Nice folks. Really surprised me, ya know, considering how _he_ is."

"_Almost_ killed them, said you? Still alive are they?"

"Far as I know. Guess he stopped the execution when the kids did somethin' crazy."

Yoda sat down, head starting to spin. "A message from Obi-Wan, have you?"

"Uh-huh," Han dug through his pockets for the holo transmitter. "Here it is."

"Watch this in private, I will," Yoda announced, leaving Han to finish his meal alone.

Half an hour passed. Han helped himself to another serving of stew, feeling like an oversized rat in a cage. Half of him wished he could watch the recording with this strange fellow. But the other half trusted everything would come to light sooner or later. He had a feeling Obi-Wan's message was too juicy to remain secret for long.

The Yoda that emerged was not the same as before dinner. His green eyes shone with wonder and awe instead of suspicion. He looked at Han with the countenance of someone who'd just been released from prison.

"Know about this, did you?" he asked in a quiet voice.

Han quickly swallowed a cheekful of bread. "Beg your pardon, but all I know is I'm supposed to bring ya back to your friends. I've got no clue what Obi-Wan had to say."

"Amazing," breathed Yoda, reflecting on everything he'd seen and heard. "A shift in the Force, I do recall feeling recently. Never could I have imagined…"

"So it's good news?" guessed Han.

"Unequivocally. Honored would I be to return with you."

"Great! Let's get outta here," Han rushed to stand up and banged his head.

Eyes twinkling, Yoda's heart surged with warmth. Han was the biggest proof of all that Obi-Wan's message was true. If Han was Vader's – no, Anakin's – representative, he truly had changed from Sith to Jedi.

Five years of exile were over. In the cockpit of Han's shuttle, Yoda flew through stars that shone brighter than he remembered, toward a horizon overflowing with hope.

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Hope was far away from the room shared by Palpatine, Xizor and Anakin the next morning. Anakin's head throbbed beneath his helmet. Between his nerves and strategizing with Obi-Wan, he'd barely slept two hours the night before. He glowered at the two menaces before him. They both appeared lively and well-rested.

Palpatine, especially, was grinning broader than usual.

"Vader, may I say how impressed I am that you arrived on time!"

"It was not difficult."

"A little bit of extortion goes a long way with you, doesn't it?"

Xizor couldn't help but interject. "Oh, that it does!" he laughed all too knowingly.

"In any case, it's grand to have you back with us, Vader. Now how about that Jedi death roster?"

Anakin kept his hands from shaking as he held forth a datapad. "Here, master. All thirty names are listed."

"Thirty?" Palpatine raised his eyebrows. "Quite impressive! That leaves very few, am I correct?"

"Very few, yes. The hunt is nearly over for good."

"My, my… almost over. What will you do with your time _then_, Vader?" prodded Xizor.

The Prince was riding Anakin's last nerve. He could have strangled the Falleen right then and there.

"Don't worry, I'm sure I'll find something to keep busy," he warned.

Xizor smiled more smugly than ever. "I'm sure you will. But if you ever find yourself with time on your hands, you know I'll always have a few favors that need doing."

"How generous of you to think of me," Anakin's voice dripped resentment.

Palpatine scrolled through the list, licking his lips. "I can't believe my eyes, Vader! Obi-Wan Kenobi? You really found and killed him?"

"That's what I wrote, isn't it?"

"Yes, I see that. It just seems strange you aren't reveling in it more."

"Sometimes the longer you wait for something, the less rewarding it is when it finally happens."

"Hm, I suppose," the wrinkles on Sidious' face rearranged themselves oddly. "But what a victory nonetheless! With him gone, only Yoda remains as a viable threat. And I strongly doubt he'll dare to reemerge after all these years."

Anakin kept firm control over his thoughts. "Doubtful indeed, master."

"Now, having begun with such good news, let us discuss the Death Star," invited Palpatine greedily. "As you both know, I have moved our announcement up by several months. Tonight at 1700 standard hours it will be broadcast throughout the galaxy on all Holonet channels!"

"1700 hours?" Xizor replied uneasily. "I was under the impression it'd be later in the evening. I'd scheduled a cortosis ore delivery for that time."

"Eh? Cortosis ore?"

"For lining the reactor core conduits," reminded Vader.

"Ah yes. Well, the delivery will have to be rescheduled. 1700 hours is prime viewing time. I won't delay our announcement for a supplies delivery!"

"Very well," Xizor swiftly typed a message into his datapad. "Tomorrow at noon will be the new time."

"Fine. Here are your scripted lines for tonight," Palpatine handed them both a datapad.

Xizor skimmed it briefly, frowning. "I've been given all of ten words!"

"I have no more than you do," Anakin dismissed. "Don't take it personally."

"Pardon me, but I think I have a right to! I've funded the lion's share of this project, and all I get is the line, '_Public tours of the Death Star will be offered soon!'_" the Prince scoffed.

"You are a Prince, not Emperor," Sidious counterpointed sharply. "If you feel you're being treated unfairly, perhaps you'd like to retract your partnership?"

Breathing heavily, Xizor decided to choose his battles. "No."

"And you Vader, any complaints?"

Hardly. The fewer words he had to say alongside Sidious, the better. "None, master."

"Good. Are there any further questions?"

Anakin could see the wheels were turning in Xizor's sly mind.

"Just one request, your majesty. May Guri join us for the transmission?"

"Your assistant?"

"I couldn't have managed Black Sun and this project without her help. She deserves to be there as much as any of us, though she wouldn't have to say anything. And a female face might help the message be better received."

Palpatine tilted his head, considering this. "All right, Xizor. She can be present. But you promise, not a word from her."

"She'll be a silent partner."

"Then I'll see the three of you tonight at 1700 hours," Sidious concluded. "Enjoy your day, gentlemen. Tonight we truly establish our rule over the galaxy!"

As Palpatine departed, cackling, Xizor moved to block Anakin's exit.

"Pity that _your_ female companion can't join us for tonight's broadcast, Vader!"

Taking Xizor's bait would accomplish nothing. Anakin flipped a mental switch that blocked Xizor's taunts. A minute spent retorting was a minute wasted with Obi-Wan.

Anakin shoved past the Prince without a word. He stalked out of Imperial Palace, sensing Xizor on his heels but hearing no further barbs from behind. His tunnel vision was focused on his own palace a few blocks down.

Something crossed his line of sight. A female figure rounded the corner and squared her shoulders when she spotted him. Her blue eyes glared viciously at him as she balled her fists. Yet while she shot daggers at him, she seemed to be looking past him at…

"Xizor!" she hailed.

The Prince sauntered past Vader, more smug than ever.

"Guri, my darling! There you are, right on time to escort me to my next meeting."

"Is _he_ coming with us?" Guri flicked her petulant gaze to Anakin.

"Heavens no! Vader and I were just coming from a meeting of our own, but we're parting ways – for now," he added with a knowing smirk.

_Soon it had better be permanently_, Anakin vowed to himself.

Xizor linked his arm flirtatiously in Guri's. "See you tonight Vader. Say hi to the family for me in the meantime! Oh wait, it's the other way around, isn't it? I almost forgot!"

Anakin forced himself not to look at Xizor's arrogant sneer. It actually wasn't too difficult with Guri to preoccupy him. Her features screamed intense hatred, yet she emitted no emotion whatsoever. It was unnerving and unnatural.

It was also familiar, he realized when she threw one last glare over her shoulder.

She was the one who infiltrated his lakeside retreat. The one Padmé had told him about – the one with no appetite and bizarrely cold skin. The one who'd managed to escape from a third-story bedroom window without harm.

His boots cracked the sidewalk in places as he ran at top speed back to Obi-Wan.

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"A human replica droid?" Obi-Wan repeated, frowning.

"Everything points to it," Anakin paced. "No emotions, doesn't eat, cold skin… she's like no organic lifeform I've ever encountered."

"Me either," Obi-Wan admitted. "But I've heard things about such droids over the years. If half of what I've heard is true, they're quite formidable."

"At least one of us has heard _something_. I've only caught a few rumors here and there, and until now I didn't believe them."

"Who can blame you? These droids are hardly common. I hear to design one costs ten million credits alone, and the construction is even more!"

Anakin huffed. "Leave it to Xizor to go for the priciest status symbol in the entire universe!"

"Oh, I'm sure Guri's much more than that," Obi-Wan warned.

"The question is, _how_ much more?"

"If he trusts her with running the Black Sun while he's engaged in other affairs, you can bet she's not just a trophy."

Anakin continued to pace. "She certainly was pivotal in my family's capture," he lamented.

"Whatever we do, we mustn't underestimate her."

Nodding, Anakin took a few more steps and then paused.

_Underestimate_…

Obi-Wan sensed Anakin's mind wheeling. "What is it?"

"What if Xizor does some underestimating of his own?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Everything he's ever said about the Jedi leads me to believe he underestimates our powers," Anakin thought out loud. "He trivializes us, doesn't see us as a true threat in the grand scheme of things. He fears and respects Sidious not because he's a Sith, but because Sidious has supreme power and wealth. No one but Xizor would be willing to risk Sith lightning for a share of that."

Obi-Wan nodded thoughtfully. "And he figures if you _have_ turned against Palpatine, you've already killed most, if not all of your former allies. He assumes you're all alone and more vulnerable than ever."

"Right! Little does he know I have you in my camp. No matter what angle he looks at it, he perceives having the upper hand."

"And we know what happens to those who fly high on hubris," Obi-Wan squinted at Anakin, who caught his meaning with a rueful look.

"Acting without thinking," Anakin acknowledged, looking down. "They make critical errors."

Both Jedi knew they weren't just talking about Xizor at this point. Obi-Wan nodded, satisfied with Anakin's self-awareness.

"So the more confident Xizor becomes, the closer he gets to making a critical error," concluded Obi-Wan.

"One would hope."

"Now let's think, where might Xizor be most likely to make that error? Perhaps with the person he trusts the most?" Obi-Wan rubbed his chin.

"Guri?" Anakin inferred.

"Precisely. Out of all the pawns involved in his game, she's the last suspect when it comes to sabotage."

"Sabotage? What do you have in mind?"

"You told me Xizor is delivering a cortosis ore shipment to the Death Star tomorrow morning," replied Obi-Wan. "And I know a thing or two about how cortosis ore reacts with the alloy used in sophisticated droids."

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	30. Ch 30: Turned Tables

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**Chapter 30 – Turned Tables**

Gray skies were a fitting sight from the top levels of Xizor's palace. A palace he'd left before sunrise and hadn't returned since. Dusk was fast approaching, and the Holonet viewer in Padmé's suite had been on for twelve hours straight. Xizor had made a point of turning it on and taking the remote with him.

There must be some broadcast he keenly wanted her to see.

She'd watched fitfully throughout the day, watching and wondering if the next episode would reveal something earth-shattering. Wondering if her nerves could even handle another earth-shattering revelation.

Only a day had passed since Xizor stunned her by detecting pregnancy hormones on her scent. Yet it felt like ages. Having no one to talk to was torture enough, but having no one to share this news with was agonizing.

It felt like the Clone Wars all over again, only ten times worse. Here she was again with child and no guarantee of being reunited with its father.

The universe certainly had a twisted sense of humor when it came to her fate.

There were times when she swore she could hear Luke and Leia's cries from a distant wing. But then the sounds would vanish like echoes when waking from a dream. Having the Holonet on for background noise was both consoling and maddening at turns. She didn't want silence, yet hearing lively voices only made her soul burn for freedom all the more.

Where could Xizor be? And what hoops did he have Anakin jumping through to earn her freedom?

The answer came at 1700 hours, just as a plate of food was deposited through her door.

The sight of Xizor, Palpatine, and Vader on the same screen made her drop the plate with a crash.

She didn't blink once during the broadcast. Her eyes remained plastered open in pure horror. They saw Palpatine's shriveled mouth moving, forming sounds that reached her eardrums but didn't register as words. Except for a few here and there:

"…construction is heavily underway… ultimate weapon and space station ever built… recruiting more Imperial forces to man this Death Star…"

She heard enough to know what they were announcing. And it chilled her to the bone.

Acting on pure adrenaline, Padmé rushed for the door. If Xizor was broadcasting live, he wasn't anywhere in the building. Which meant her chances for escape would never be better than now.

Padmé yanked the casing off the door control panel, numb to the pain in her fingers as they were sliced by wires and sharp edges. Her knack with hotwiring was nothing compared to Anakin's, but she prayed she'd picked up enough from watching him years ago. In a frenzy, she tore at conduits and switches, ignoring the occasional shock that stung her hands. She had to get out of there. She needed Ainar.

After five minutes, her haphazard efforts at last paid off. The door slid open to reveal a startled guard who clearly wasn't expecting her to appear. Padmé's survival reflexes outmatched his and a quick elbow to the nose knocked him out cold. She stripped his blaster from unconscious hands and hurried down the hall.

The tapered design of the palace meant the top floor had the smallest square footage to explore. There were only so many rooms up here in which Xizor could have hidden Ainar and the twins – assuming they weren't on a lower floor. If they were, things would soon get very interesting.

Padmé punched the door controls of the first suite she came to. It opened on an empty apartment. In a flash she was off to the next alcove – and another vacant space. And another after that. Her heart raced; only two more doors lined the corridor.

With trembling fingers and lungs, she hit the controls.

And she gasped when Ainar almost swung to hit _her_.

"Padmé!" he exclaimed, eyes wide with shock and apology. "I'm sorry! I sensed someone coming and I had to assume it wasn't a friend!"

Catching her breath, Padmé slumped against the doorframe in relief. "It's all right, I'm just glad I found you!"

"Mom?!" a chorus of two young voices met her ears. Luke and Leia came bounding into the living space, bursting with joy as they squeezed her.

Padmé was speechless as a dozen emotions overwhelmed her at once. "He… he put you all together in the same apartment?"

"Yeah, and it seems he couldn't care less about us. We haven't seen him once all this time."

"How nice that must be!" Padmé rolled her eyes. "Up until yesterday, he couldn't go three hours without intruding on me!"

"What happened yesterday?" asked Ainar innocently.

Casting an uncertain look at her children, Padmé figured they'd find out sooner or later.

"He... discovered something," she began, lowering her voice. "I'm pregnant."

Ainar blinked, instantly confused – and a little suspicious. "_He_ discovered that? How…?"

"He smelled it on me!"

Leia poked Padmé in the arm. "Mommy? What's that mean?"

"It means you and Luke will have a little brother or sister," she replied warmly.

While Luke and Leia rejoiced with each other, Ainar's expression was still contorted.

"It's… Anakin's, right?" he hesitated to ask.

"Of course it is!" Padmé's jaw dropped indignantly. "I'd never let that green monster touch me!" she cried, feeling a wave of guilt as she recalled Xizor's pheromones influencing her earlier.

"In that case, congratulations," Ainar smiled, hugging her.

"Thank you, but I don't feel much like celebrating. Have you watched the Holonet lately?"

Ainar shook his head.

"Palpatine, Xizor, and Anakin just announced the Death Star! It's a massive space station with a laser that will be able to destroy entire planets!"

"Death Star?" Ainar frowned. "I don't recall Anakin mentioning that before."

"Me either! He only told me Palpatine planned to dissolve the Senate. He said nothing about a superweapon!"

Ainar kept a neutral expression but was clearly unsettled. "I don't know what to make of this."

Worry creased Padmé's features as she sat next to him on the couch. "I have a bad feeling about it, Ainar. Like my worst fears may be coming true."

Ainar couldn't dismiss her concerns so easily this time. His son appearing alongside the galaxy's most vile villains was troubling enough. That they were announcing an incredibly violent development – one he knew absolutely nothing about – shook his faith in Anakin like never before.

"I feel even less safe here than before," Padmé confided.

"We have to leave."

Ainar's tone was firm and determined. And exactly what Padmé hoped to hear.

With a blaster in one hand and a Force-sensitive ally behind her, Padmé dodged and shot her way through the maze of Xizor's palace, smuggling the twins behind alcoves and behind corners until they all breathed the sweet air of freedom.

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Slinking and lurking around corners wasn't just for the Skywalkers that evening.

Tucked in the lengthening shadows of Imperial Palace, a hooded figure clutched a blaster tightly against his chest. He hadn't moved an inch in over an hour. Solid as a statue, his gaze never left the portico on the south wall of the palace.

He'd have only one shot at this – literally.

His vision strained as the sun sank behind the clouds. Twilight was both a challenge and an advantage. It meant he'd struggle to see his targets, yet it also meant they wouldn't see him until it was too late.

There were other pros and cons to this situation too. Not being human, one of his prey would lack readable thoughts.

And not being human, she lacked the sixth sense of an organic lifeform. Much less that of a Jedi.

All was cloaked in shadows now. Obi-Wan heard the door open before he saw any movement.

Just as Anakin had promised – Xizor and Guri. At least, they fit the description of each.

Obi-Wan inhaled once and then everything happened in rapid fire. Guri's head jerked at the faint sound of air entering his nose. Before Xizor could turn his own head, she'd snatched a blaster from her belt. But Obi-Wan had a thousandth-of-a-second advantage. He flicked the trigger just before she could.

By the time Xizor knew what was happening, he was hit too. He slumped down unconscious next to his assistant.

Obi-Wan made sure the alley was clear and scurried across, hunched over like a madman. He needed to work quickly before the stun effect wore off.

"Underestimated the Jedi, indeed," he gloated, feeling the base of Guri's skull for the seam of her access panel. He found it and gently pried it open.

A matrix of green and blue fiberoptic conduits were arranged in incredibly complex patterns. Obi-Wan forced himself to breathe and steadied his nerves. From a small plastic case he withdrew a microchip the size of his pinky fingernail. Force… if he dropped it now…

Hands shaking almost imperceptibly, he laid it in place and slowly reached around for his blaster. In three seconds, the lowest setting fused the chip in place and sealed it in cortosis ore to prevent detection from Guri's systems.

It was a chip he owed several friends for. It wasn't every day he called upon the collective network of Bail Organa, Dex Jettster, and several others. But when they came through, they came through. They'd procured the tiniest explosive device that carried 100,000 terawatts of explosive power.

Far more than was needed to destroy a human replica droid such as Guri. Far more than was needed to kill her and Xizor if he was standing fifty feet away from her.

Far more, too, than was necessary to destroy the Imperial Palace.

Obi-Wan closed her access panel and glanced at Xizor. Still out cold, but Guri was starting to stir ever so slightly.

"All done here, pick me up," he whispered into his comlink and started running.

A two-seat speeder descended at the front of the alley and Obi-Wan leapt in. He threw a grateful grin at the driver.

"Perfect timing, Bail!"

"Thanks… but hold off the congratulations until after we pull this off," the senator from Alderaan suggested.

"The hardest part is done."

"In my view, the hardest part will be Dar– _Anakin_ following through." Bail didn't even try to hide his severe skepticism. Even saying Anakin's name felt too generous.

"He will! Bail, did you hear anything I told you earlier?"

"Hearing and believing don't automatically go together."

"If you don't believe me, why go to such trouble to help? Why get me the cortosis ore laser adapter?"

"Because any plot that involves planting a bomb on Prince Xizor's personal droid is one I can endorse, no questions asked. The Black Sun is a growing threat to the entire galaxy. Take her out and we might just cripple it for a while."

"So you believe Anakin wants to kill Guri, but not necessarily Xizor and Palpatine?" Obi-Wan read between the lines.

"Xizor, _maybe_. But the Emperor? Not in a million years," huffed Bail.

Smiling thinly, Obi-Wan nodded. "You're entitled to your opinion."

"Yes, and as for yours… Obi-Wan, I'll be honest with you. I'm still not convinced he doesn't have you under some sort of Sith mind spell."

Obi-Wan guffawed. "Look into my eyes! Do they have that vacant glaze? And just for argument's sake, even if I am being controlled… by Anakin…" he lost himself in laughter for a minute, "... then eventually I'll ask you to do something that's an outright conflict of interest! As long as _you're_ not under mind control, I think you'll recognize if that happens!"

Bail frowned, glancing sideways at the Jedi. "I'm not amused."

Obi-Wan patted his friend on the shoulder. "That's all right. This really isn't an amusing situation. But given the choice between laughing and crying, I went with the former."

The rest of their short trip was awkwardly silent. Bail pulled up to the base of Darth Vader's palace and gave Obi-Wan an obligatory smile.

"Good luck, old friend," he said sincerely.

"Thank you, but with you and the Force on my side, I doubt I'll need luck. Just wait and see, Bail. A new dawn is coming."

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Dawn did in fact bring very interesting things.

From the instant Xizor opened his eyes, he knew this would be no ordinary day. How could it be, when he'd spent almost twelve hours unconscious?

He recalled the alley assault in murky detail. Guri had gone down first, sniped by a hooded figure in the shadows. How had she been taken off-guard? And how did the assailant calibrate his weapon to stun her yet not destroy her? Xizor knew of no energy beam that could do that.

Whatever it was, it clearly didn't agree with his system, knocking him out for so long. At least Guri appeared to be unharmed. Her system scans revealed  
nothing out of the ordinary. She said she'd recovered quickly and carried him back to their palace.

A palace that no longer held their captives.

When Guri told him, he'd been too furious to move. Too livid to contract his facial muscles into a mask of rage. How. In. The. World. Had. They. Escaped!

According to the guards, it had happened during the time of the broadcast. So Vader couldn't have possibly assisted them. But then, he didn't really have to. Padmé was a tenacious shrew and Vader's father must be trained in the Force, or however it was said. Xizor had never given much credence to that superstition, but now seemed the time to reevaluate his attitude.

So they'd escaped. Regardless of who had or hadn't helped them, they'd escaped. And so his one supreme leverage with Vader was gone.

Easy come, easy go, or so he'd heard said. A platitude he'd never really believed until now.

And oh, how easy they'd been to capture. How easily Xizor had pieced together Vader's scandalous past through just a few clues. And now what did the Prince have to show for it? Empty penthouses and a growing knot in his stomach. Palpatine had ordered that he, Guri, and Vader be present for the cortosis ore delivery that morning.

Which meant he had less than an hour to reassess his strengths and weaknesses. And determine what, if any, aces still lurked up his sleeve.

The Prince of Falleen, the Vigo of the Black Sun, and Imperial Center's second-wealthiest figure felt an odd sensation. It started in his brainstem and crawled like spiders down his neck, then his collarbone, and out into his extremities. It felt unnatural, and for a moment he wondered if it was an aftereffect of the stun blast.

But no. To his incredulity, he slowly realized it was anxiety. For the first time in his adult memory, fear was awakening his nerves.

He'd much rather have stayed unconscious forever than woken to this.

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	31. Ch 31: Three Birds, One Stone

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**Chapter 31 – Three Birds, One Stone**

They flew in on three separate ships. Two Imperial shuttles and the Virago. Xizor's custom craft landed first, followed by Palpatine and Anakin last. The Death Star's main docking bay was still in its rough stages. Industrial debris cluttered the floor on which their boots converged in the center.

Each man and Guri had one eye on the others and one on the bay doors, waiting for the cortosis cargo to arrive.

Tension was at an all-time high. Even Palpatine was uneasy with Xizor and Vader's animosity that morning. It felt different – as if it might soon reach a breaking point.

When it did, Obi-Wan would have a front row seat to the action, thanks to a camera implanted in Anakin's helmet. Though it wasn't just for entertainment. From his control center on the top floor of Anakin's palace, he'd watch and judge when the time was right to spring their trap.

Just another day in the life of one of the few remaining Jedi survivors.

At least he and Anakin were on the same side this time. United, they actually stood a chance of making it happen.

Anakin breathed deeply, taking courage in knowing Obi-Wan was as good as standing right behind him.

And he couldn't wait to see the look on Palpatine's face when Yoda arrived to stand behind him literally.

But one thing at a time. First, some painful small talk.

"You two seem out of sorts this morning," grumbled Palpatine.

"I didn't sleep well," Xizor replied tersely. "And I woke to find some rather important things missing."

"Sorry to hear it. But let's all try to be in good spirits until the shipment arrives, eh?"

The Prince folded his arms and glared at Anakin. "That shouldn't be hard for _you_, Vader. You recovered some things you'd previously lost, didn't you?"

Anakin hadn't the faintest clue what Xizor was implying. "What?"

"Please! As if you didn't have anything to do with them escaping!"

Palpatine was just as confused as Anakin. "What's this about, Vader?"

"I don't –" Anakin began, then gasped. Xizor was making no attempt to keep his mental shield up, and the thoughts from his mind were coming through loud and clear. _They… they escaped? How? And why didn't they come to my palace for refuge?_

"Like hell you don't know!" spat Xizor. "Your father, wife, and children had the audacity to break free of the cozy little home I made for them! I'm sure your morning's been much better than mine and filled with gloating!"

Anakin had just been smacked by a ton of bricks. His family was out there on their own, without his or Obi-Wan's protection.

Which was a million times more harrowing now that Palpatine knew of them.

Xizor must have realized this was the best – and only – card that remained in play for him.

The trio stood in tense shock until, fortuitously, the cortosis shipment arrived right on time. Warning sirens blared throughout the bay as the cargo ship slowly entered.

_Not a moment too soon…_

Only a minimum of words passed between Xizor and the crew who unloaded the cartons. Anakin cringed at how roughly they tossed them onto the ground, but speaking up would only make things more conspicuous.

Palpatine didn't even bother to double-check the carton count. He dismissed the crew with a hiss – and then his full attention was back on his apprentice.

Anakin couldn't remember the last time he saw Sidious' eyes so dark. They were two slivered black holes.

"Is this some stupid joke between the two of you, or is what Xizor says true?"

"It's not a joke, your highness. Tell him yourself, Vader!" Xizor interjected. "Go ahead, I dare you to lie to him again!"

"I'm afraid you've miscalculated, _Prince_," Vader planted both fists on his hips. "My lies balance out the ones I've been fed the past five years! The ones _you_ constructed to keep me loyal all this time!" he thrust a finger straight at Palpatine.

"Of what lies do you speak?" demanded Palpatine.

"Padmé's death, for one! And that of my two children by default!"

Sidious curled his lip. "She _was_ dead to you, after what you did! And you can't serve two masters! Obi-Wan might have been dense enough to let you, but not me! That woman was nothing but a distraction and brain drain! And if she's the reason for your mental and physical absence these past few months, that only proves I'm right!"

Well, the old Sith was right about serving two masters, at least.

"She consumed a relatively small amount of time, all things considered."

Anakin ceremoniously removed his helmet, throwing it to the floor as he locked his blue eyes onto Sidious' black ones. "My last Jedi hunt was a cover for reconstructive surgery – at _your_ surgical center, no less! Turns out everything you told me about surgical limitations was a lie too!"

"Aha! I knew you'd undergone some sort of treatment!" crowed Xizor.

Something like fear flashed across Palpatine's sagging face, but then it snapped right back to a demonic mask.

"I prohibited you from getting treatment for the same reasons – to keep you focused on our objectives!"

"No, you did it to keep me weaker than you! You needed an ally but not one who could overthrow you, perhaps in your sleep," Anakin added sharply, referencing Darth Plagueis.

Sidious ignored the accusation. "This is the ultimate betrayal!"

"The ultimate betrayal happened a long time ago, Sidious! Before I ever heard of the Jedi or set foot on a core world. You betrayed every living being in this galaxy by plotting to overtake it! And now that I'm healed, I'm finally in a position to make retribution for all you've done!"

Palpatine shrank as Anakin took a step toward him. Then, noticing something, he held steady.

"Your lightsaber is missing! How do you expect to defeat me with no weapon?"

"I don't."

The next sequence was all but a blur to Xizor, who watched in a stunned stupor. From behind him came the sound of a shipping container bursting open, followed by the hum of a lightsaber flaring to life. A miniature tornado spun toward them at dizzying speed. The next thing Xizor knew, a green blade clashed against Palpatine's red one, and Anakin was racing for his shuttle.

It took him another second to realize something was amiss. Guri… Guri should be in hot pursuit, but she wasn't…

He hadn't even noticed her falling to the floor. Her eyes were open but vacant, locked on a distant focal point. Her joints, too, were locked in place. Xizor shook her frantically, starting to panic. What happened to her? She hadn't been shot or struck by a lightsaber. Yet her systems were on total lockdown, and his desperate voice brought no change to her blank expression.

Hyperventilating, the prince turned to Palpatine who was deeply engaged in mortal combat. He'd never seen the Emperor wield his lightsaber against anyone, much less someone so well-matched in skill. Xizor watched in rapt astonishment as the aged Sith danced and dodged around the short green Jedi's lunges.

The longer Xizor watched, the more uneasy he grew. Something about this duel didn't seem right. It seemed that the green Jedi was resorting to less and less aggressive moves as time went on. He sidestepped when he could have sliced, ducked when he could have undercut. Even Xizor's untrained eye picked up a deliberate pattern that Palpatine seemed oblivious to.

One might mistake the Jedi's movements as passive, but they actually led the dance.

A fact Palpatine realized all too late by the time he backed Yoda against the wall, right next to a small exhaust vent. In one swift move, Yoda blocked Sidious' jab and cut off the vent cover. Steam assaulted Palpatine's face and Yoda hopped down the shaft, which was too small for Palpatine to follow down.

"Gah!" Palpatine swatted the steam away. "Xizor! Where does this exhaust shaft end?"

The Prince blinked dumbly. "The exhaust shaft?"

"Yes, that's what I said! Do you remember from the blueprints?"

"No…" Xizor's eyes fell back to Guri. "I… I don't…"

"Worthless!" Palpatine spat, sheathing his lightsaber and sprinting toward the exit corridor. "Wait here, it could be a trick! He might double back!"

Xizor was in no condition to move anyway. With Guri down, his ambition to fight was oddly drained. He should be up in arms, more determined than ever to destroy Vader and those assisting him. Yet an unsettling calm had paralyzed him much like Guri.

It was as if he knew it was all futile. It was the end. Vader had won. He'd get everything he ever wanted, and Xizor would lose everything.

But then, he'd already lost everything. His family was eradicated years ago thanks to Vader. Guri had become his surrogate family, and perhaps something more. Now she too had succumbed to the same morbid misfortune he seemed destined to attract.

Somehow he'd known all along it would come to this. His palace, the Death Star partnership, chasing Vader's weaknesses… he played the game as long as he could, knowing he was outmatched from the onset. But oh, what sport it had been! How he'd savored every moment and cherished each victory! In his mind was a hall of trophies, glittering and glorious.

He'd take them all with him to the grave.

He remembered where the ventilation shaft ended. He knew that at this very moment, Vader had to be intercepting the green Jedi with his shuttle, catching him as he tumbled to the Death Star's underside.

When Guri exploded, there was a millisecond when he realized he knew that was coming, too.

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Pieces of the Death Star showered down onto Imperial Center. Anakin fell with them, landing his shuttle next to his palace with a euphoric Yoda at his side.

"Succeeded we did! Destroyed are Palpatine and Xizor, both!"

"Yes," Anakin exhaled, leaning against the controls. His shoulders felt like jelly.

"More elated, why are you not?"

"It doesn't seem real. It hasn't sunk in yet, Master Yoda." That was half the reason, anyway.

Yoda frowned. "Something else is troubling you."

"Let's go inside and find Obi-Wan."

When they did, Han bombarded them with energy so intense it was like another bomb exploded.

"VADER!" he threw Anakin into a back-slapping hug. "Hey buddy! Never knew you had it in ya! Good going!"

Obi-Wan chuckled at the boy's youthful, unfiltered enthusiasm. Han's smile was wider than the galaxy and brighter than its core. By the time Obi-Wan had a chance to embrace Anakin, the latter was smiling from Han's infectious joy too.

"I second everything Han said," Obi-Wan laughed. "Flawless performance!"

"You too. You paralyzed Guri's neural net at just the right time."

"Oh, that was nothing. Catching Palpatine completely off-guard – that was all you and priceless to watch!"

Anakin's smile drooped. "I wish I could celebrate this with my family."

"What are we waiting for? Let's hop over to Xizor's place and get them!"

"We could, except… they're not there."

"Then where are they?" Obi-Wan looked quizzically at Yoda, who was just as confused.

"That's a good question."

Baffled, Obi-Wan was beside himself. "You mean they escaped without telling you where they went?"

Anakin nodded, too upset to speak.

"That's madness! Why on earth would they do that? It's horribly unsafe!" exclaimed Obi-Wan.

"And irrational. Separate themselves from Anakin, why would they wish to?" Yoda questioned.

"That's what I'd like to know," Anakin muttered. "They sure know how to ruin a celebration."

Obi-Wan tried to remain optimistic. "They must have thought it was the best option. Maybe they thought contacting us would interfere with our mission."

"But how could they have known anything about it in the first place?"

Yoda and Obi-Wan exchanged a look at the same instant.

"The transmission last night," posited Obi-Wan. "They must have seen it and decided it was time to make their move."

"How long until they realize the Death Star is destroyed and it's safe to contact us again?" Anakin pressed.

"Soon, in all likelihood."

Anakin shook his head. "Something feels wrong here. I don't sense their presence anywhere on this planet. They didn't have to go off-world, you know!"

"Patience, Anakin. They'll return in time."

"I've been plenty patient! Waiting for the chance to overthrow Palpatine and Xizor... now that I've finally done it, I deserve my family more than ever!" Anakin stormed out.

"Where are you going?" called Obi-Wan.

"Stay here and wait for them if you want, but I'm searching for them myself!"

The trio stood in bewilderment for just a few seconds before following Anakin. No man should have to undertake this chore on his own, especially after everything he'd been through.

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Alderaan, Naboo, Tatooine… all the planets started to look alike after a while. Images of the Dune Sea overlapped ones of the Great Western Sea, on whose shores he'd last seen his beloved family. How many more dead ends and empty landscapes would he have to endure? How many more hiding places were there?

And why had they chosen one so difficult for him to find?

If he didn't know any better, he'd think they'd hid from him and not just Palpatine.

Anakin was about halfway between Tatooine and Dagobah when he had a heart-wrenching epiphany. They probably _were_ hiding from him. The Death Star broadcast was the key. They'd watched it, been shocked by the announcement, and suspected he was in league with Palpatine and Xizor all over again.

Because, he recalled, he'd never mentioned anything about the project to Ainar or Padmé. And they took his silence on the matter as a clear sign that he couldn't be trusted.

Damn… even from beyond the grave, Palpatine and Xizor were complicating his life.

Time to reassess his strategy. If Padmé mistrusted him, that meant Ainar was now her main source of strength and protection. And if Ainar got to dictate where they hid…

Anakin jerked the shuttle around on a dime. Han, Yoda and Obi-Wan's their elbows took a beating as they steadied themselves.

"What are you doing?!" yelled Obi-Wan.

"Yeah, watch it! Or maybe I should take over drivin'!" Han rubbed the back of his head.

"I had to change course," Anakin explained over his shoulder.

"Clearly! May I ask where we're going so abruptly?" Obi-Wan staggered into the cabin.

"Zygerria! We'll find them on Zygerria."

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Just as Anakin suspected, his father wasn't making this easy. There were no land or lease records of anyone with Ainar's name. Not even the Starkiller alias Anakin had given him in the past. Ainar was too clever for that, but Anakin had to try.

So it was down to old-fashioned perseverance. Ainar was likely Force-shielding Padmé and the twins, but Anakin was prepared to cover every square inch of the planet if need be.

But that wouldn't be necessary. With two Jedi masters searching alongside him, Anakin let the Force guide him down alleyways and through tunnels. The power of love could pierce any shield generated by fear.

He found them in a small, rustic cottage several miles from civilization. He sensed high anxiety behind its walls. His spirits fell. It was just as he suspected. Being so remote, news of the Death Star's destruction hadn't yet reached them.

"You knock first," Anakin ordered Obi-Wan.

Yoda and Obi-Wan marched up to the front stoop while Han and Anakin stood back. A pair of curtains fluttered in the window and two little noses peered out. Anakin smirked. Ainar and Padmé might be cautious, but the twins were as curious and uninhibited as ever.

At first there was no response to Obi-Wan's knock. Then Luke and Leia's faces vanished from the crack in the curtains.

"So you found us," Ainar's voice carried through the thin walls. "You must know why we're here."

"We have a good idea," replied Obi-Wan, glancing back at Anakin.

"We're not comfortable with having vital information withheld. Surely you can understand that!"

"Oh, I can. But you too must realize that miscommunication can happen."

"How is blatant omission of the Emperor's pet project a simple 'miscommunication?'"

"Anakin didn't want to tell you about the Death Star and risk the liability. And he certainly didn't want you to learn about it the way you did, but Palpatine declared a surprise announcement," Obi-Wan explained.

"We were surprised, all right."

"Yes, and we have another surprise – one you're sure to like much better."

"What's that?" Ainar asked cautiously.

Grinning, Obi-Wan beckoned Anakin to join him and Yoda. "I'll let you do the honors," he whispered to Anakin.

Anakin cleared his throat, wishing he was looking at their faces rather than a faded door.

"The Death Star is gone."

Uncertain silence.

"What do you mean, 'gone?'" Ainar's voice returned.

"Obliterated. Savagely torn into billions of tiny pieces. _Gone_. And Palpatine and Xizor with it."

To Anakin's joy and relief, the door cracked open a few inches.

"If you're lying, that's quite the fabrication," Ainar studied him with burning eyes.

"One that can be verified by checking any Holonet station!"

The door shut, but Anakin heard Ainar and Padmé conversing in hushed tones as they flicked on the holo viewer. He waited in jubilant anticipation for the door to swing wide open.

When it did, Padmé and the twins almost knocked him over like a bowling pin. Their embrace squeezed the air right out of him, but he recovered soon enough, laughing.

"I'll take that as an apology!"

"I'm so sorry we doubted you!" she pulled back, tears sparkling on her eyelids.

"That's all right," he kissed her. "But you owe me."

"What can I do to make it up to you?"

"Just promise me one thing," he gently brushed her stomach with one hand. "Don't tell this one about who I used to be. I want him or her to know me as I am now."

Padmé's eyes widened in wonder. "You know…?"

"Yes, that was the one and only thing Xizor ever gave me, ironically. He thought I already knew, but he ended up telling me before you could."

"That _is_ ironic. He told me first, too," she laughed drily.

Ainar stepped in for a hug next. "So he's really gone? And Palpatine?"

Emotions clogged Anakin's throat. All he could do was nod. Ainar's eyes reflected the exultation streaming from his son's soul.

"Well done," Ainar stated simply. "Anakin."

It was the first time he'd formally addressed his son by that name. It was the first time it had ever felt truly, fully appropriate. Darth Vader was officially as dead as his former master and nemesis, who were now nothing but space dust.

The cottage held an intimate celebration that evening, full of tall tales and unbridled affection. Tidying up the Empire's loose ends could wait until morning. Anakin boasted that it would be _his_ face, not Vader's, that made the glorious proclamation that the galaxy was now free. Many would marvel at Anakin Skywalker's mysterious return, but their astonishment would soon change to hope when he announced that the Jedi order would be restored.

While it was true that the Black Sun lived on, its next Vigo could forge no personal vendetta against Vader or symbiosis with the Emperor, since both were dead. Wherever the small band of surviving Jedi could, they'd regain some control over the Black Sun's activity. It would be a slow, modest effort at first, but eventually order would return to the galaxy.

And when it did at last return, Anakin would be sure to give Ainar all the credit. His was the spirit that filled Anakin's new lungs and carried new winds that blew from Tatooine to Helska – and everywhere in-between.

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_Next week, the final epilogue chapter!_


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